


A Source of Wisdom

by CoffeeQuill



Series: Love Like You [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Accidental Baby Yoda Acquisition, Action/Adventure, Adoption, Anxiety Disorder, Bullying, Childhood Memories, Childhood Trauma, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Dynamics, Force Sensitivity, Force Training, Found Family, Hurt/Comfort, ManDadlorian, Mandalorian, Mandalorian Culture, Mando'a, Parenthood, Separation Anxiety, Sleepy Cuddles, Space Battles, Space Dad, The Covert, The Force
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-26
Updated: 2020-01-09
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:00:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 29,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21977725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CoffeeQuill/pseuds/CoffeeQuill
Summary: With practiced ease, he fixes every plate and tightens every strap. Then, he slides his helmet on, and pulls out his bag from under the bed. He throws it over his shoulder, glances towards the kid, and stops to reassure himself.If he knew, he’d never let you go,he thinks.He’ll get over it.---Faced with the reality of the kid's abilities, Dyn is determined to find someone who can help him understand.
Relationships: Baby Yoda & The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV), Baby Yoda (The Mandalorian TV) & Paz Vizla
Series: Love Like You [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1581040
Comments: 336
Kudos: 1709





	1. The Separation

**Author's Note:**

> Part 2 has arrived! Here we have a plot that revolves around Kid's abilities and Dyn struggling to understand and learn what's best for him.
> 
> Be warned: a little less cute, and a little more angst.
> 
> And as a side note: I made a [discord server!](https://discord.gg/UwZuG6N)! Come chat with me about this fic or Baby Mando in general!

A week has passed since Dyn and the child came to stay and by the end of the week, one would think the two had been there forever.

He leans against the wall and watches as the child plays amongst the Foundlings. He’s surprised to find that, over a week, he hasn’t had to remind the children that the kid is fragile. That he is too small to run like them, or wrestle like them, and they need to watch that they don’t kick him. Instead, they all seem acutely aware of where the kid is and what he cannot do with them.

So when a game of tag begins, whoever is ‘it’ scoops the kid into their arms. And so the kid becomes a marker of who is ‘it’, and they come running around the corner with the child giggling in their arms.

Now, though, they’ve tired of tag and are gathered around, singing and telling stories. While the child has been able to parrot some _Mando’a,_ he has yet to really speak, and instead simply tries to clap along with their songs.

Dyn watches, his eyes fixed on the child, and a heaviness in his heart.

“Does he know you’re leaving?”

Paz Vizla sidles up beside Dyn, leaning against the wall with their arms almost brushing. Dyn glances at him, then crosses his arms. “No,” he says.

“Are you going to tell him when you’re walking out?” Paz asks.

“I’ll make sure he’s down for a nap before I go.”

“Come _on,_ Dyn. Don’t you think it’s cruel to let him just wake up to find his _buir_ gone?”

“He’ll have the covert to distract him,” Dyn says. “And I don’t plan to be long, anyway. It’s not a month-long trip.”

“It could be,” Paz says. “What you’re looking for is not something easily found. You have no idea if it can be found at all. It could take a week or months.”

“I won’t _take_ months. If I haven’t found anything within two weeks, I’ll come home. I’ll go out again at a different time.”

“If you do find it?”

“Then if it’s safe, I’ll come back and get the kid.”

“Take the kid away from the covert? Where he’s safe?”

_“Paz.”_

Paz sighs. “Look, Dyn. I get that you want answers. You want to find the one person who can help you do everything right. But in my own opinion, I think what you’re looking for is just too out there. If you keep reaching, you’re going to fall.”

Dyn stares at the ground.

“Stay here. You’re both thriving here and a hunter hasn’t even entered the city. The _ad’ika_ is safe and happy here. Now you want to disappear on a wild chase that could lead you nowhere and leave him feeling abandoned.”

Dyn scowls beneath his helmet but keeps his voice level. “... At least when he grows up I’ll be able to tell him I tried,” he says. “That I _looked._ Besides, if there’s a chance someone is watching this place or tracking _me,_ I’ll be leading them away.”

Paz lets out a breath, like he understands that this is something Dyn can’t be talked out of. “He will be devastated when he realizes you’ve left him behind.”

“One day, he’ll understand,” he says. “I’m doing this for him. You all can keep him busy. Make sure the kids play with him, and he loves you. He’ll forget that I’m gone. Just… let him sleep with someone. The kids could sleep with each other. We don’t really use the crib.”

Paz frowns. “Dyn. Just tell him.”

“Later,” he mutters, and he slips out of the room.

That night, his things are packed up again, hidden under the bed so the kid doesn’t see anything. They eat their dinner together, and he doesn’t seem to notice anything amiss.

 _I’m coming back,_ he thinks. _I promise, I’m doing this for you._

Then, after Dyn’s returned their plates, he takes off his helmet and begins removing his armor. He’ll leave tonight and set himself on the path, then figure it out from there. He needs to find more information than what the covert alone has. He needs to find someone with answers.

Soon, they’re tucked into bed, and their bedtime routine of snuggling together continues. He ties the child into his bodysuit—and this time leaves the strings a little looser than normal. He then pets the child’s back, their usual routine, and begins humming the _Resol’nare_ rhyme. The rumble of his voice seems to put the child at ease.

After enough time, the child’s breath evens out. He breathes slowly, but consistently, and Dyn continues to rub his back. He stares up at the ceiling. He feels time slowly creep by.

Then, when he’s sure the kid has gone into a deep sleep, he sits up. He eases the kid out of the suit and cradles him, then stands from the bed. He walks across the room and lowers him into the crib, careful to get him situated without waking him up. Then he turns and walks to his stored armor, beginning to redress.

With practiced ease, he fixes every plate and tightens every strap. Then, he slides his helmet on, and pulls out his bag from under the bed. He throws it over his shoulder, glances towards the kid, and stops to reassure himself.

 _If he knew, he’d never let you go,_ he thinks. _He’ll get over it._

This is the first time they’ve separated since he snatched the kid back from the Client.

He reaches towards the bed. He scoops up the their knitted blanket, then the stuffed fish. He walks over and gently lays the blanket over the child, tucking it in, then lays the toy beside him. “I’ll be back soon,” he murmurs, before he turns and grabs his rifle from the wall. He walks out of the room.

When he turns towards the hideaway’s exit, the Armorer is standing there. Dyn stops.

She straightens as they nod to each other. “You understand what you are doing?” she asks.

“I do,” he says.

“You understand that this quest of yours may be nothing but folly?”

He frowns beneath his helmet, gripping his rifle’s strap. “I do,” he says, his voice dropping a little. “But this is about the kid, not me.”

“Is it?” she asks.

Their eye contact lingers. He can feel the disapproval in her stare. Not a single Mandalorian has voiced support for what he’s trying to do, only weary understanding.

“Go,” she says. “But leaving him in the night like this will have consequences. You will have to face them when you return.”

“Of course,” he says, and they exchange another nod before he begins walking. He brushes past a curtain, then opens a door. It opens to a staircase leading up, only dimly lit by the light of two moons overhead. He walks up the steps and looks around before he begins to walk.

It’s a bit of a challenge to navigate their area of the city, but once he finds the main road it’s a straight shot to the gate and to the shipyard where the _Razor Crest_ is parked. As he walks, the night patrol walks past. He gets stares and suspicious looks but they leave well enough alone.

When he steps onto the _Crest,_ it feels like it’s been forever. He closes the ramp, stashes his rifle, and climbs up to the cockpit. With the ease of muscle memory, he flips everything on and prepares to lift. Within minutes, the engines have warmed and he begins liftoff, careful in how the ship rises.

He throws a glance out the window, towards the city. _Two weeks. 14 days. Hopefully sooner._

Then he tears his eyes away and looks to space. Below, another ship rises and begins to follow.

When the morning comes, no one is quite prepared for what the little one’s reaction will be upon discovering that his _buir_ is gone. They aren’t sure if it will be screams, or crying, or if he’ll try to escape and follow after Dyn. The first objective of the morning, they all agree, is to keep the child as distracted as possible so he may never notice at all.

Paz, Thara, and the Armorer are the only ones awake, sitting at a table together as they await any sign that the _ik’aad_ has awoken. Soon, there’s a creaking door, but the approaching footsteps are too loud and Ari Tero walks in, stretching her arms.

She stops and looks at them all. “Is something happening?”

“Dyn left on a trip,” Paz says, trying to control his irritation. “The kid doesn’t know.”

Ari tilts her head. “Where?”

“The hell if I know!” Paz snaps, and Ari flinches. He sighs and mutters an apology. “... _He_ doesn’t even know where he’s going.”

Ari just nods and walks away to find breakfast.

Soon, as a few more members of their covert walk in and mutter their pleasantries, a little shadow creeps into the room, almost too small to be noticed. When there’s a soft tug at his boot, Paz looks down to find the child standing there, looking like he’s just woken up and appears rather sad.

 _“Ba’vodu?”_ he says, holding up his arms.

Paz reaches down and scoops the kid into his arms, bringing him into a quick cradle. “Morning, _verd’ika,”_ he says. _“Me’copaani?_ Breakfast?”

 _“Buir,”_ the kid says, staring up at him.

“We have some eggs. You may like those.” Paz stands and every helmet has turned towards them, all aware of Dyn’s absence. “And after, the kids--look, Ari and Jaylen are up, too. You can play with them after.”

 _“Buir!”_ The kid starts to squirm. He whimpers and fights Paz’s hold. _“Ba’vodu, Buir, Buir--”_

“Whoa, kid,” Paz says quickly. “You’re going to fall--”

He loosens his grip, ready to catch the kid, but little claws grip the edges of his armor and the kid stands instead, holding onto the edge of his chestplate. “N… No. No? No? No _Buir!”_ He lets go with one hand and points to the side, towards the hallway and towards his and Dyn’s room.

 _Djarin, you bastard,_ Paz thinks. “Don’t worry about that,” he says. “You should eat-- no, no, don’t start crying, no, it’s okay!”

Big tears are welling in the kid’s eyes. _“Buir!”_ he whimpers in a choked voice before he shuts his eyes and _wails._

It’s loud and shrill, almost painful, and so heart wrenching that every Mandalorian seems to grimace. For a brief moment, it quiets, only so the kid can hiccup and sob. _“Buir,”_ he whimpers in between. _“B-Buir…”_

“Fuck Dyn,” Paz hisses at the Armorer. “You should’ve told him no to his stupid mission. Is his Force teacher going to be worth doing _this_ to the kid?”

“Dyn knows the consequences,” the Armorer says over the crying. “He knows he will face them when he returns. All we can do is comfort the child as best we can and wait for him to return.”

“I’m going to kill him,” Paz snaps as the baby buries his face into Paz’s shoulder, leaving snot and tears on the armor. Another heartbroken wail begins. “He walks through that door again and he’s dead.”

If the rest of the covert wasn’t awake, they are now. They begin to trickle in, each giving a look towards the screaming child. After a few minutes, the twins pop up in front of Paz, looking nervously hopeful.

“Hey, hey!” Ari says. “We’re going to play tag. Want to come?”

But the kid doesn’t hear them or doesn’t acknowledge them, his claws digging into Paz’s armor, and he continues to cry like his world has lost its sun.

He’s been flying smooth for hours now, comfortably far from the atmosphere, and he continues to search through the _Crest’s_ archived files. He’ll admit that he doesn’t have much of a start, but he knows a few seedy underworld hangouts that he can go to to make his inquiries. There’s a few select cantinas and speakeasies where some concerning questions won’t touch a nerve.

“Tattooine?” he muses aloud. “Hmph. Corellia… Either of those sound good, womp rat?”

He glances over his shoulder, but the makeshift pram sits empty.

_Right._

This should feel normal. Travelling alone, doing things himself. This should be ordinary because once, it was.

 _Once._ Not anymore. The kid’s cooing or squeaking or even his damn _breathing_ made some sort of noise besides the ventilators and engines. Sitting here now, his ship feels… quiet. Too quiet. There is no kid trying to get his attention or get at the joystick because it looks fun.

“There and back,” he mutters. “As fast as possible, kiddo.”

Tattooine isn’t exactly his favorite place, but there’s still opportunity there and he might be able to find some work while he’s down there--preferably, one that doesn’t end with some wannabe-bounty hunter turning on him. He begins to type in the coordinates when a holocall request pops up on the screen.

He pauses. _Paz._ Does he want to answer? The kid must’ve woken up by now and it would take an extreme amount of luck for him to react well to his disappearance. Alright, maybe leaving in the night without a word wasn’t the nicest course of action.

He lingers, then lets out a sigh and accepts the call. “Djarin.”

“Just a warning,” Paz says, his form appearing, “when you come back, I’m going to put a plasma bolt straight through your knee.”

He’s glad for the helmet, hiding his grimace. “I guess the kid knows I’m gone,” he says, continuing with his coordinates.

“The _ik’aad_ has the misfortune of _your_ ass being his _buir.”_

“Can I talk to him?” Dyn asks. “I’ll tell him that I’m coming back soon, he might feel better hearing it from me.”

“Oh, hell no. The time to hear from you was _before_ you left. He cried for three hours straight after he realized you were gone and he only stopped because he tired himself out. Hearing your voice will just set him off again.”

Dyn sighs. Paz is right; right about all of it. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I know. I should have told him. But if I did, he would try to come with me.”

“That’s a problem _you_ deal with,” Paz says. “This only made it easier on _you,_ Dyn, not him. He could have been _gedin’la,_ but _shuk’la_ describes it better with this course of action.”

Dyn feels the stab in his chest. He grips his controls. “I’m going to Tattooine,” he says. “I’ll try to find a lead there.”

“A _week,_ Dyn,” Paz says.

“What?”

“You have a week. Two weeks is too long. He’s a baby, Dyn, and he’s bonded too tight to you for you to leave him for so long.”

“A week is too _short,”_ Dyn says. “How am I supposed to find anything in that amount of time? That’s hardly enough to _travel.”_

“Make it work,” Paz snaps, and Dyn falls into stunned silence. “Don’t punish him for _your_ decision.”

“I’m not punish--”

The entire ship rattles, throwing Dyn forward. He winces as he hits the control board, then slumps back into his seat. Red lights flash around him. “Shit…”

Paz stiffens. “Dyn? What just happened?”

Dyn slams buttons and taps against the screen, alarm bells ringing overhead. His screen switches from navigation to exterior, the assailant appearing as a blip behind the _Crest._ “Shit! There’s a guy on my tail.”

“Don’t get killed,” Paz says in a firm voice. “Call me later.” His hologram disappears.

Dyn reaches up to turn off the alarms, then grabs the controls and turns on the boosters. The engines snap open and the _Crest_ shoots from a slower pace to a sprint. He pushes the joysticks away, bringing the ship down, then snaps them straight again. “Fuck off,” he hisses, as the blip continues to follow.

“ _D̸o̵n̸e̷ ̶h̸i̴d̷i̴n̵g̵,̴ ̷M̷a̶n̸d̶o̸?̵_ ” A voice filters through the ship’s frequency system, full of static and breaking up. “I̵ ̷w̴a̶s̷ ̷w̸o̴n̶d̵e̷r̴i̴n̵g̶ ̷w̸h̸e̵n̴ ̴y̵o̶u̵'̴d̸ ̸c̷r̸a̷w̷l̸ ̵o̶u̸t̸ ̴o̸f̸ ̷y̶o̸u̴r̷ ̵h̸o̵l̷e̵.̷” 

Blaster shots race by. He jerks the controls and banks right, the shots going far wide before reaching closer, and he banks again. It’s Jakashi’in, he thinks, though the voice is difficult to discern. Dyn has no idea how good he is at piloting. _That’s a problem._

He reaches out and hits the comms button. “I don’t have the kid,” he hisses. “But I’ll still kill you while you’re here.”

A broken up laugh comes in response. The ship rattles again as a few more shots find their mark. Dyn sucks air in through his teeth, getting jerked forward again.

“I̵ ̴d̷o̶n̶'̴t̴ ̴c̷a̴r̷e̷ ̸a̴b̵o̴u̷t̸ ̵t̸h̵e̸ ̸k̵i̴d̷.̵” Dyn looks up, his breath stopping in his lungs. “K̵a̶r̴g̴a̷ ̵p̴u̸t̶ ̴a̶ ̵n̴i̶c̴e̴ ̶b̷o̶u̵n̸t̵y̷ ̸o̴n̴ ̶Y̵O̷U̶.̴ ̵I̴t̵'̷s̷ ̶y̶o̴u̶r̵ ̶a̴s̵s̷ ̴I̸'̵m̵ ̸a̷f̸t̵e̵r̸,̵ ̴M̶a̸n̶d̶o̶.̷” 

_Well, fuck._ “Dead or alive?”

“P̴r̷e̵f̷e̵r̴a̶b̶l̸y̷ ̷a̷l̶i̵v̵e̵.̶ ̸B̵u̷t̶ ̷I̸'̴m̴ ̸n̵o̷t̸ ̷p̴i̷c̶k̸y̴.̸”

Dyn grits his teeth and slams on his computer screen, running a search for the nearest solid planet. The _Crest_ isn’t fully repaired from his last mess of a battle and he can’t afford another engine blow. He’s a good pilot, but he’s better if he can take the fight to a planet’s surface.

The search finishes just as he jerks the controls again. _Takodana._ Okay, fine, he’s not going to get choosy about where to make his stand. He curses beneath his breath, then prepares for a jump.

“T̴h̸e̸r̸e̶'̴s̴ ̵n̷o̴w̶h̶e̴r̴e̷ ̶t̶o̷ ̴g̴o̶,̶ ̸M̴a̶n̸d̶o̷!”

“Follow me, then,” he says, and pulls the lever, sending the _Crest_ shooting beyond stars.

It only lasts a few minutes before he exits hyperspace, the _Crest_ jolting as it does, and Takodana looms before them -- a blue and green planet, so similar to the one he left. For just a moment, he allows himself to take a deep breath -- then the little blip appears on his screen again and he slams on the boosters, driving straight towards the surface.

“T̴h̴i̷n̵g̴s̷ ̶w̸i̵l̶l̴ ̶b̷e̶ ̷m̸u̷c̴h̶ ̶m̴o̶r̴e̷ ̴p̷l̴e̷a̶s̵a̸n̸t̸ ̶i̴f̷ ̸y̷o̷u̴ ̴c̸o̶m̵e̷ ̷q̴u̷i̵e̸t̵l̸y̷.̷”

“You should have reconsidered which puck you took,” Dyn says. As blaster shots begin to rain down, he sends the _Crest_ spiraling before he jerks them out of the way. “You think a Mandalorian is going to go quietly?”

“A̵ ̵s̶m̵a̸r̴t̵ ̶o̷n̶e̸ ̶i̴s̷.̵”

“Think again.”

The surface, green with trees and blue with a massive river, rises up rapidly to meet them. He pulls up, the _Crest_ starting to level out to not bury herself in the ground.

_Boom._

He’s thrown to the side when an engine blows, and of course it’s the same damn engine that was already repaired. The ship lurches to the side and he drops, suddenly crashing through the trees, and he grips the stick. Too low and too fast and the landing gear hasn’t even deployed--

He tries to hit the landing gear. It starts. Then there’s another _boom,_ the _Crest_ shakes again, and somehow he _knows_ he just lost his landing gear. “Shit, shit, shit, shit…”

“L̷o̵o̶k̴s̶ ̵l̵i̵k̴e̸ ̸y̶o̵u̵'̶r̸e̸-̴-̶ ̸A̶A̶G̴H̸!̶”

He thinks he hears another crash just before he hits the ground and it all goes black.

When Dyn opens his eyes, the world is sideways. He takes deep, quick breaths, feeling his entire body _throb_ as one unit. He lets out a groan, his vision swimming, then reaches down and grips the arms of his chair. He tries to push himself up.

His left wrist and right knee both scream in agony and he drops himself, holding in a cry.

His vision is coming back. As it does, he braces his right arm and left leg, using both to lift himself out of the chair. The _Crest_ is lying on a tilt, forcing him to grip the chair for support as he slowly climbs towards the door. He leans against it, cradling his left arm to his chest, and stares at the doorway.

Then, he steps and jumps.

It’s not a far leap, but his hand doesn’t slip. He grabs on and swings his good leg up, then manages to pull himself through. He can put weight on his right leg, but whatever injury his knee has isn’t appreciating it. He grits his teeth and slides himself on the ground towards the ladder. He turns himself, grabs a rung, and drops.

_“Mando!”_

He freezes, then reaches out and grabs his rifle. Only one hand useful--he loops it around his shoulder instead. He reaches down and grabs his blaster from its holster.

“Where are ya, ya tin bastard?”

He makes his way to the side door and opens it. He hops out of the ship and looks up at her--internally, he winces. He won’t be flying out of here anytime soon. The damage to the engine alone would take days.

The hunter’s voice comes from the other side of the _Crest,_ and he’s sure it’s Jakashi’in. He sounds like he’s in pain, though not enough to keep him from chancing it with Dyn. _I guess I’m not lucky enough for it to have killed him?_

“Oh, your bounty will keep me comfortable for a _long time…”_

As soon as a shadow steps around the corner of the _Crest,_ Dyn fires. Jakashi’in steps back from the shot, a sharp “There you are!” being hissed, and Dyn backs up a few feet more. He aims the blaster.

“Quit now,” he says, “and I’ll let you live.”

“Not likely.”

A blaster shot races at him and his pauldron deflects it. Dyn winces at the force, then fires two shots before he turns and sprints into the trees. Blaster shots follow him, but the foliage provides cover.

As he runs as best he can with a throbbing knee, he turns and fires another shot behind him. Jakashi’in rounds the corner of trees.

He raises his pistol.

Dyn takes another step.

A shot of pain goes through his knee, as though a blaster had just tore a hole straight through it, and he collapses with a pained groan.

Jakashi’in grins, his pistol primed but lowered as he approaches, slightly hobbling. “That beskar is worth a lot, eh?” he says. “Y’know, if it fits, maybe I’ll take it _and_ my bounty.”

He curls his left leg in, his broken wrist cradled in his lap. He sucks air in through his teeth, pain masked by adrenaline, staring down the wrong end of a blaster.

“I guess we’ll finally see that face.” Jakashi’in is grinning at him, unsettlingly gleeful.

Dyn flexes his fingers, primes his blaster, and thinks of his waiting kid.


	2. The Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Has he eaten?” Griphin asks.
> 
> “Only a little,” Paz says. “He cried himself to sleep and would only take a little leftover beef when he woke up. Refused the bottle, warm or cold. He’s just waiting for Dyn.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're back!
> 
> Come join us on [ discord](https://discord.gg/UwZuG6N)  
> Send any prompts or requests over to my [ tumblr](https://coffeequill.tumblr.com/)

When the adrenaline wears off, he’s left in agony. His knee can barely handle any weight, leaving him limping and grabbing the trees to keep his balance. While he isn’t sure what’s going on there exactly, his wrist is certainly broken and has swollen up, sensitive to the touch.

The only thing going good is that the sun is still up. It’s setting, but he still has light and time before nocturnal predators come out to play.

After he’s left Jakashi’in’s corpse about a mile behind, he finally slumps to the ground, his back against a tree. He’s just following the river, hoping he’ll stumble upon a village or other settlement with medical supplies. Typically he treats his own injuries, or if they’re severe enough, he returns to the covert for their healer to tend to him. He doesn’t know about a broken bone, though.

He hasn’t broken a bone since he was a pre-teen boy.

He needs it reset and his knee to be examined, because he has no idea what the issue is. Something from the crash must’ve damaged a part of it and his running made it worse.

_ A week, Paz? Try a month at this rate. _

His ship is out of commission. He’s far too injured to put up a good fight against any man or beast that wants to attack him--he got lucky with Jakashi’in being so slow after the crash.

He lets out a groan. He needs shelter before the light is gone and the wild animals come out, but he doesn’t have much hope at this rate. His knee is screwed up and it took him far too long to make it a simple  _ mile.  _ He grimaces as he prods again at his wrist.

He wishes his body would just stop reminding him of his injuries.

Then he thinks of his kid, waiting at home, surrounded by his family but only thinking of Dyn.  _ I have to get home.  _ If he can’t find anything, fine, but he has to come home.  _ I promise, kid. I’ll fix the ship with a spanner and one hand. _

He finds himself so lost in his thoughts that he doesn’t notice the figure walking along the path. Only when the footsteps crunch louder does he react, jerking his pistol out of its holster and pointing it at the threat.

Instead of a wild animal or hunter, he finds himself staring at a small humanoid, female by the looks of her. She has orange skin and large glasses, the lenses coming around from either side of her head.

She raises her hands, showing they are empty. “Relax, Mandalorian,” she says. “I mean you no harm.”

He stares at her. Then, slowly, he lowers the blaster.

“You are hurt,” she says. “How bad?”

He hesitates. Then he answers. “Wrist is broken,” he says. “My knee is… not cooperating.”

She only nods. “I knew you were coming. I will take you to my home. You can heal there.”

“You knew I was--what?”

Paz sits at the table beside Griphin Tero, both facing the far end of the room. The children are in sight as they play, laughing and wrestling on the ground, their helmets clinking together or against the floor.

“He’s not doing well,” Griphin says.

Paz grumbles under his breath. Since the morning, a feeling of melancholy has settled over the covert. It is as though if the  _ ik’aad  _ is not happy, the Mandalorians are not happy. It is seen in the children as well; though they laugh and play, there are occasional moments where they appear a bit unsure.

To the side, the kid is sitting alone, that sad expression on his face. Not excluded, but he has no interest in playing.

“Has he eaten?” Griphin asks.

“Only a little,” Paz says. “He cried himself to sleep and would only take a little leftover beef when he woke up. Refused the bottle, warm or cold. He’s just waiting for Dyn.”

It hurts. It really, truly hurts something deep inside to see how miserable the kid is. And after the holocall with Dyn that was cut short, the kid has seemed even more distressed.

“Dyn was attacked by a hunter,” he says, his voice quiet enough to not carry over. “He hasn’t called back. I’m going to try him later and see if he’s just forgotten.”

Griphin nods. “He may just be dealing with the damages.”

It’s a more reassuring thought than the ones he’s been having. “Right,” he says. “The kid almost looks like he knows something happened.”

Griphin makes an amused huff. “Maybe he does,” he says. “He’s got the Force, don’t he? Maybe he feels what Dyn’s going through, being so attached. Dyn’s dead and he’s  _ echoy’la. _ ”

Paz snorts. “Yeah, right,” and Griphin just chuckles. He gives the man a light elbow to his arm before he stands up and walks over to the kid.

He crouches down in front of the child, who looks at him with teary eyes. “Hey,” he murmurs in a soft voice. “Feeling hungry,  _ ad’ika?” _

The kid stares at him.

“Hungry. Uh, food?” Paz reaches out and pokes the child’s stomach.  _ “Kai’tome?” _

The child looks down at his hand, then up at Paz.  _ “Ba’vodu,”  _ he says. He holds his arms out.

Paz sweeps the kid up into his arms. “I’ll assume you’re hungry,” he says. “Let’s get you some lunch, yeah? Then we can find a story to read to you.”

The kid sits in his arms in silence. He only stares at Paz’s bracer.

Paz walks out into the hallway. Faint chatter from different rooms reaches his ears; the sounds of different families, of friends, the covert shifting and moving in its dynamic. It’s comforting. The sounds of home.

He’s about to turn into the kitchen when a shadow at the entrance catches his eye.

It’s the movement of the door above, the sun shining through for just a moment, before it shuts again. Soft, soft footsteps begin to come down the steps—and Paz hears the quiet beep of a fob.

He turns and sprints back into the room, the child held tight in his arms. _“Haaranovor!”_ he hisses. The children stop and stare at him. _“Haaranovor!_ Ari, take him.” He turns and presses a finger against his comms button. _“Beroya. Beroya. Tsikador.”_

In an instant, the children scatter, some diving under furniture while others sprint into the next room. Ari runs over and grabs the whimpering child from Paz, then darts away and slides under the bench. After a few seconds, they’re completely out of sight, and Paz and Griphin both step behind walls.

They look at each other, sliding their blasters out of their holsters. The footsteps approach, then a voice rumbles through the tunnel, the fob beeping beneath it. “Come out, come out, Mando.” It's silky, sultry and female. “Hand over the child and no one has to get hurt.”

Paz and Griphin look at each other. Both grip their blasters. They nod to each other, the understanding coming over them both.

Then the kid starts  _ keening. _

It’s a loud, mournful wail, descending into pitiful sobs, and Paz curses beneath his breath. “Now!” he says, and both Mandalorians jump out into the hallway with blasters raised.

The hunter has primed her own blaster, most of her face covered by a snakeskin helmet that looks abysmal compared to the Mandalorians’ own. She stares at them both, eyes going wide, then begins to back up. “Wait,” she says. “I’ll go—“

“No,” Paz says, and he pulls the trigger. The hunter collapses to the ground, eyes still wide with fear.

Griphin steps forward, holstering his blaster, and grabs the corpse by the shoulders. Paz turns and puts his own blaster away, walking towards the bench Ari is curled under. “Hey, kid,” he says. “Hey, hey, what’s wrong?”

“He just… started crying,” Ari says as she begins to squirm out from under the bench. Paz moves back to give her room. “That hunter started talking and he just…”

_ The hunter?  _ Paz thinks as he takes the blubbering child into his arms again. “She was here for him. She called out for Dyn, so maybe…”

The baby continues to cry, pitiful attempts at words seeping through.  _ “Buir,”  _ he manages, before his eyes squeeze shut and he cries more tears than Paz thinks a being his size is capable of.

“Ari, go get some water,” he says. “He’s going to dehydrate himself.”

As the girl runs off, Paz turns and walks out into the hallway, towards Dyn’s room. He opens the door and looks around at the empty space, the bed and crib both untouched since the morning. He walks towards the crib and grabs the blanket out of it, then looks around. “Where is it?” he mumbles aloud. “I thought I saw…”

The sweater is folded up on the shelf, next to where Dyn would put his beskar. “There we go,” he says, walking over and grabbing the sweater. “I think someone needs a bath and something comfortable to wear, hm?”

The child doesn’t respond. His cries have quieted down but the tears still fall and his little body shakes.

Paz swallows.  _ “Buir  _ is coming back,” he says, and he adjusts the kid, a hand coming to rub at his back. “He’s coming back. He will do whatever it takes to come back to you, remember that.”

The kid looks up at him. Maybe he understands what he’s saying, maybe not. But he just turns and hides his face again, sniffling.

“Alright,” he sighs. “Bath time.”

When Dyn wakes up for a second time, it’s much more pleasant than before. He’s not waking up in a crashed ship, his body throbbing and riddled with pain. Instead, he feels the cushion of a bed beneath him. His pain is minimal, a gentle ache in his wrist and knee that doesn’t hurt that much.

When he really comes to, the panic threatens to set in.

He tries to sit up from the bed, but a tearing pain shoots across his abdomen and he falls back, grimacing in newfound pain. He looks down to see that he’s been stripped of armor, though his helmet remains. His wrist has been reset, no longer mangled but straightened and casted in plastoid. A similar brace sits around his knee, stiff and with no give to bending.

He stares up at the ceiling high above him, then braces himself on his elbows and sits up, feeling… clean. His same bodysuit is on, but he feels as though someone has taken a sponge to his skin.

“Relax, Mandalorian. You’re safe here.”

He jumps at the voice, reaching for a blaster, but his holster isn’t there. He stares instead at the same being there who found him, the small orange humanoid, who walks towards his bed with a tray of food and drinks.

“Where is here?” he asks.

“You are in my castle, here on Takodana. It is used as a sanctuary to those who need it, so long as they don’t bring trouble to my door.” She places the tray on the table beside the bed, then climbs up onto the chair next to it. “I am Maz Kanata.”

He takes a deep breath. “You took my armor,” he says.

“It’s been placed somewhere safe for you. Those injuries needed to be seen. You had a nasty internal injury that required attention, so you will not want to move quickly for a time until it heals. Your wrist and knee have been fixed, it is only on you to allow it to heal. No, your helmet was not removed.”

_ Okay.  _ Okay. This ‘Maz’ seems genuine, so he takes in his surroundings instead. It looks like they’re in the lower levels of a castle, not quite a dungeon. Above, he thinks he can hear music through the stone.

“Did you…” he pauses. “Did you say you knew I was coming?”

“I did.” Maz reaches towards the tray and begins to pour out a drink. “The Force told me. It also told me that you had crashed, hence me finding you.”

“Huh,” he says.

_ The Force told me. _

_ The Force. _

_ The Force! _

“You know about the Force?” he says, turning to stare at her. “It… talks to you?”

She looks at him, then chuckles. “It doesn’t speak in a literal sense,” she says. “But yes, I know the Force very well.”

He watches with wide eyes as the filled cup begins to lift off the tray, hovering in the air for a moment before it moves into her hands.

“That’s exactly what I’m looking for,” he says. “I’m looking for someone who knows about the Force. Who can answer my questions.”

“Then the Force brought you to my door, it seems. Why are you looking for such a person?”

Then, in a rambling mess, the story comes out. He tells her about the kid. He talks about how he took the job before realizing his sin and claiming the child as a foundling. He tells her about the mudhorn and levitating toys and how the kid always seems to know a little more than he lets on. He describes his conversation with the Armorer about the jedi and his newfound determination to find someone who can help.

When he finishes, out of breath, Maz simply sits and closes her eyes, seeming to ruminate on what he’s said. He sits and waits for her to say something. Say  _ anything. Please,  _ he thinks.  _ Please be who I’m looking for. _

“I felt it,” she says after a moment. “The dark side of the Force never rests, but neither can the light. For so long, it seemed the darkness had won. But the light is returning, and it returns through many beings, but there is one in particular.”

He stares at her. “Dark side?” he repeats. “There’s a-- a dark side? And a light?”

She only smiles at him, and for a moment, he wonders how old she is. “Yes, a dark and a light,” she says. “The Force is made of the energy of all living things. It exists in all living beings, yourself included, but only a select few can manipulate its power. The light side is shaped by compassion, healing, mercy, kindness. The jedi believed in this. The dark side follows the rule of anger, hatred, pain, and fear. That is what drove the Empire.”

Dyn slowly manages to sit up more, trying not to irritate the healing wound beneath his suit. “Do you… do beings  _ choose  _ a side?”

“They choose a side when they allow a certain emotion to guide their actions,” Maz says. “A being who values compassion and understanding follows the light. A being who acts out of their anger and fear follows the darkness. You are never tied to one side, but the darkness is strong. Kindness takes strength. Anger is easy. These are choices, but difficult ones.”

“How does…” He stops the find the words. “I’m… worried. The child is safe in our covert, cherished as one of our own, but I don’t know how to teach him to control his powers. He seems… strong. I need someone to help me do this right. To not let him… become dark.”

“You  _ do  _ need a teacher.” Maz leans back, eyeing him. “But for other matters. A child is a blank slate in this world, and it is our experiences that shape us. The light side or dark side, you have no control over what he will become. Everything can be done right, and he may still fall into the darkness, his mind and heart twisted in those ways.”

Dyn feels a weight settle over his chest.

“But I agree with your Armorer,” Maz says. “What you teach him as he grows may save him. Responsibility, consideration, honor. These are valued qualities for a reason. They walk in the way of the light and will help him when he must one day make a decision.” She waves her hand dismissively. “The Jedi Order frowned upon strong emotion. They were abstinent, warned against attachments. Had it never fallen, your child would already be living in their temple, taught to control his powers but never taught to  _ love.  _ The Order fell because they did not understand the importance of emotion. To love is to  _ live.” _

“To love,” he repeats.

“You say he is cherished. That is already a good start. Teach him to love, to have compassion, to have empathy. Teach him the value of those things. This is how one walks in the light.” She gives him a gentle smile. “One who values kindness and is happy cannot fall to the dark side without great effort. The greatest lesson he can learn is that good things exist in the actions of those who care.”

Dyn stares down at his knee brace. There’s some reassurance in her words, the fact that he knows what he must do. It doesn’t sound so incredibly difficult. But his anxiety returns anyway.  _ You can do everything right and he may still fall.  _

He didn’t even know there  _ was  _ a dark side to the Force.

“What do I need a teacher for, then?” he asks.

“The Force is not just telekinesis, but it encompasses a user’s entire being. An untrained one is at risk for their mind being invaded and manipulated by another with sinister intentions. You need somebody who can teach this child to protect themselves.”

“Who could do that?” he asks.

“Hm,” she muses, “there is a jedi out there who is looking for Force-sensitives. He is looking to begin a new generation of jedi and a new, improved Order. The name is Luke Skywalker. He would be the best teacher for the child, should you give him to Skywalker.”

_ Give him to Skywalker. _

“No,” he says. “No. The kid is a Mandalorian. He stays with the covert.”

Maz studies him for a moment. “I cannot see your eyes,” she says. “Live as long as I have, and you learn to see the same eyes in different people. But I will not ask you to remove the helmet. I can hear your honesty in your voice.”

Dyn takes a deep breath. “Is there anyone else?” he says. “Anyone who…  _ doesn’t  _ want to take my kid? You use the Force--could you teach him, if I brought him here?”

She studies him for a moment. “Perhaps,” she says. “I do know mind shielding very well. If he is able to be taught such a thing, I will do it.”

He feels relief flood his entire body. “Thank you.”

“How old is the child?”

“He’s… he’s 50 years old. But he’s still a baby. A toddler, more of, he’s starting to learn some words.”

“A toddler at 50.” Maz sounds quizzical. “A long lifespan, then. Indulge me, Mandalorian, what is his species?”

He frowns. “I don’t know,” he says. “I’ve never seen anything like him. No one has.”

“What does he look like?”

“He’s tiny. Fits in my hands kind of tiny. Green, big long ears. Three fingers, clawed, big eyes.”

Beneath her glasses, Maz stares at him, eyes wide. “Interesting,” she says. “Very interesting.”

He looks up. “Do you know what he is?” he asks, hopeful.

“The name of such a species? No, I’m afraid I don’t know the name. But I knew another like him. Small, green, and incredibly talented in the Force. Grand Master Yoda was perhaps the greatest jedi in galactic history. He oversaw the entire Jedi Order. He survived the Great Jedi Purge, but passed into the Force some time ago.”

_ What, so we just missed him? _

“Whatever the species is, they have a predisposition for the Force,” Maz says. She looks at him, then stands, sliding off the stool. “You will stay here until you have healed enough to travel. You’re going nowhere with that knee. I will send friends to find and fix your ship so you can fly home. Once you do, collect the child and return here when you can. I will teach him what he will learn.”

She turns her back to him, taking her drink with her and leaving the tray for him. He takes a deep breath. “You’ll… still be here?” he calls out.

“I have been running this place for centuries before you were born, Mandalorian,” she responds, not looking back. “I will be here.”

He watches her leave, disappearing around a corner, and in the resulting quiet he can hear the music coming from above. There’s fainter chatter. It sounds like a packed bar above, and maybe it is. He’s alone now, left in the lower levels of the castle, and again he tries to bend his knee. The plastoid casting doesn’t give him any room, and maybe he shouldn’t push his luck.

He sits up further and lifts the tray into his lap, as his stomach howls for food. His hands reach for his helmet. As he slides it off, he places it on the table and slicks his hair back from his face. Then, he digs in.

When he’s swallowing down a mouthful of food, he thinks again of the covert.  _ My holocaller is on the ship.  _ At this distance, he can’t contact anyone and let them know he’s okay. Not until he’s healed and the ship is fixed.

_ If this is the Force’s doing,  _ he thinks,  _ the Force is a bit of an asshole. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando'a: (new)  
> Echoy'la -- searching, mourning, lost  
> Kai'tome -- food  
> Haaranovor -- hide  
> Beroya -- bounty hunter  
> Tsikador -- ready/prepare
> 
> I hope I do Maz's character justice here. I rewatched Force Awakens for her scenes and boy do I love her. The Force works in mysterious ways!
> 
> Come join us on [discord](https://discord.gg/UwZuG6N)  
> Send any prompts or requests over to my [ tumblr](https://coffeequill.tumblr.com/)


	3. The Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Ad’ika?”_ he calls, stumbling forward again. When his knee gives out, he collapses to the floor and groans. He struggles back to his feet. _“Ad’ika, ni yaim!_ I’m home!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a fight scene later in the chapter where some Mando'a gets thrown around. To not break the flow as you read: just know that it's all very insulting.
> 
> So... I caved. I'll change Dyn to Din. Din Djarin doesn't look as nice to me but... eh, I guess it's growing on me a little. I'll go back and fix his name in the past chapters.
> 
> Come join us on [ discord](https://discord.gg/UwZuG6N)  
> Send any prompts or requests over to my [ tumblr](https://coffee-quill.tumblr.com/)

It takes a whole week on its own before Din has really healed. His wrist is still trapped in firm plastoid, but the casting has been taken off his knee and replaced with a new brace made of stiff fabric and durasteel, keeping pressure on but allowing him to try walking. His muscles feel sore from being in bed for so long, and his whole body is restless, but he’s able to limp across the room.

Maz watches him with arms crossed, a disapproving look on her face. “You need more time, Mandalorian,” she says. She’s never asked his real name. “Better you return home later but in one piece.”

“I’ve already been away t… too long,” he hisses, grabbing onto the wall. The brace helps, but his muscles still tremble with the effort of putting and  _ keeping  _ weight on that leg. He leans against the stone, sucking in a breath. “I need to get back to my kid. It’s been over a week.”

“You want to fly your ship with one hand?” she demands. “You’re being hunted. You will not work your controls reliably with your wrist casted.”

“I’ll take my chances.”

Maz sighs, grumbles under her breath. “Your ship isn’t even ready.”

“When?” he asks. Taking his hands from the wall, he begins to walk back to the bed. God, it  _ hurts,  _ but he has to be able to walk to his ship. He has to be able to walk through the city. He needs to do it without a limp, without an obvious display of weakness.

“When it’s  _ ready,”  _ she says, and with that, she turns and leaves him.

He stumbles straight into the bed.

It takes another three days before he can walk with a more normal gait, the pain remaining but tuned down. Every hour that ticks by feels like agony.  _ 11 days,  _ he thinks. He’s a whole four days beyond his allotted time. He thinks of his ship and the holocalls he’s probably missing. He’s willing to trust that the  _ Crest  _ really is being fixed, but Maz won’t let him leave the castle.

“You can go out when it’s ready,” she snaps at him, clearly getting annoyed by his relentless fidgeting. “You are only trying to agitate your knee. I hope the child is a bit more patient than you are.”

“I need to contact my clan,” he says. “I was only supposed to be gone for a week and they know I was attacked. They need to know I’m alive.”

“They can wait a few more days,” she says. “You are fine. You will be returning soon.”

He scowls, but he has no choice but to sit again and wait for his knee to stop aching.

Then, just over three weeks since he left the covert, the  _ Razor Crest  _ is finished.

Maz leads him out of the castle through a side door, where the  _ Razor Crest  _ has been dragged in for repair. She’s in terrible need of a new paint job, but it has all been physically repaired. The landing gear has been replaced and as he walks around to examine it, he finds everything more or less in place.

He hits the control and the ramp lowers. He looks over at Maz. “Thank you,” he says. “For everything.”

Maz smiles. “Get home to the child,” she says. “When you both are ready, bring him here. Safe travels.”

He nods to her, then walks up the ramp, more of a hobble with his knee. Once he’s up, he hits the buttons to close it, then pulls his rifle over his shoulder.

_ Fuck. _

He takes a deep breath, hand coming down to massage through the brace, then turns and limps towards the ladder. He knows he needs more rest, but he can’t be away a whole month to allow him that healing. The incision beneath his armor has healed the best out of all his wounds, barely affecting him as he hauls himself up the ladder with one arm and one leg.

When he slumps into the pilot’s chair, he can’t suppress his groan of relief. He begins hitting buttons and levers, firing up the engines, turning on his navigation system. The ship rumbles to life. Relief spreads through his whole body.

_ I’m coming home, buddy. _

As soon as the ship has jumped into hyperspace, Din finds the holocall. He puts through the connection request to the covert and waits.

He waits.

And waits.

And just when he’s checking if it was actually damaged in the fight, Paz answers. His form flickers to life as a blue hologram.

“I thought it wasn’t going through,” Din says. “I found what I was looking for. There’s a place on Takodana, a castle that acts as sort of safe haven, and the woman who runs it can use the Force, too. She had all the answers to my questions and agreed to teach him whatever he’s able to learn. I’m going to grab the kid and take him back.”

“You didn’t call,” Paz says.

His voice is strangely… calm. Forcibly so. Din frowns. “I… couldn’t,” he says. “I crash landed on Takodana. The  _ Crest  _ was wrecked. That hunter chased me out and I was barely quick enough to take him down. I’ve been recovering while the ship was repaired.”

“How are you injured?”

The  _ disinterest  _ makes him hesitate. “My wrist is broken,” he says. “The crash hurt something in my knee, I couldn’t walk. I have a brace on it, but I’ll barely make it to the hideaway with the condition it’s in.”

He’s met with silence.

“Paz?”

“Land safe,” is all he gets, and the call fizzles out.

Din finds himself staring at the holocaller in shock. He knows he’s far over the deadline and was gone even longer than  _ he’d  _ planned. But he’d  _ crashed  _ and nearly died. Paz didn’t seem to care.

“Land safe,” he grumbles. “Land safe, he says. No ‘glad you’re alive’?”

He lands amongst the other ships, touching down more roughly than he’s used to but the  _ Crest  _ settles in its spot with the new landing gear still holding. He stumbles off the ship, pain arising in his knee, and begins walking towards the city’s gates. He’ll be able to rest comfortably in the safety of the clan, and be able to sleep better with the child lying on his chest.

Sleep, lately, has felt strangely… alone.

Merging into a crowd of city dwellers and tourists, he does his best to hide the knee injury, forcing himself to walk with the most normal gait he can. It doesn’t help that the streets slope upwards at a steady incline. He grits his teeth against the pain shooting up his leg. His quad muscle is straining to make up the difference, tightened up in its efforts.

He makes it up the main road before he has to turn the corner and slump against someone’s stoop, face tightened in pain. His hands come to cradle his knee, breathing heavy.  _ Oh, fucking stars. _

He should’ve given Jakashi’in a more painful death.

It takes time before he can drag himself back to his feet, beginning to stumble through smaller side streets and alleyways. The path to the covert’s hideaway is confusing and winding, built more like a maze than city streets. Every few minutes, he stops to lean against a building, leaning on his good leg to give his knee a rest.

The joint is on  _ fire. _

Finally, after what feels like an hour instead of twenty minutes, he reaches the covert’s door.  _ Thanks the stars.  _ All he wants to do is slump into a chair, eat some food and sleep. Resting his leg makes the pain fade away and sleep makes the process feel faster.

He hobbles down the stairs, reaching the door, and turns the handle.

It doesn’t budge.

“What?” he mutters aloud before trying again. The door still doesn’t move. He has nothing like a key, because the door isn’t  _ supposed  _ to lock. He stares at it, then raises his hand and knocks.

After a minute or two, there is no answer. He tries again, and still, the door doesn’t move. “Hello?” he tries.  _ “Hello?  _ Paz?”

He’s only met with more silence. Overwhelmed with pain and confusion, he slams on the door and then leans against the wall, hand coming to his helmet’s comm. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Paz, Thara, Griph, someone just answer the damn-- _ hello?  _ If someone could answer!”

_ Silence.  _ If they’re in there, they can all hear him. The bastards are ignoring him.

The door isn’t broken into. There’s no sign of a fight, so it can’t be that they’re  _ gone.  _ Paz would’ve said something. They’ve got to just be fucking with him. He grits his teeth and slams his fist against the door.  _ “Hello!  _ Open the damn door!”

Then there’s the soft clicking of a lock, and slowly, the door creeps open. The twins stand there, the curtain held back, and both are staring up at him.

He grabs onto the doorway, both to balance himself and make sure they can’t close it on him. “What,” he seethes, “the  _ hell?” _

“They said to make you wait,” Jaylen says. Then they both step backwards, giving him room.

He steps through the doorway, immediately taking as much pressure off his knee as possible.

“Do you need help?” Ari asks.

“No,” he snaps, and it comes out meaner than he intends but he’s  _ pissed.  _ “Who told you to lock the door?”

“Paz,” both say in unison.

_ Asshole. _

He manages to get down the stairs and the hideout is silent. He limps towards his room, but looks to the side at the main hall. Several Mandalorians are sitting there in groups, and they all look over at him.

Then simply turn around and continue their conversations.

_ Is this the silent treatment now? _

“Where’s the kid?” he asks, to no one in particular. Not a single Mandalorian even glances at him.

_ Real mature, guys. _

_ “Ad’ika?”  _ he calls, stumbling forward again. When his knee gives out, he collapses to the floor and groans. He struggles back to his feet.  _ “Ad’ika, ni yaim!  _ I’m home!”

“He’s hiding.”

He looks back at the twins, who are fiddling with their hands as a nervous tic. He frowns. “From what?”

They glance at each other.

“From you,” Ari says.

He stares at her. 

“From me?” he whispers, and he’s no longer angry about the door. He’s just  _ crushed. _

Ari nods. “We… we told him you were coming back,” she says. “We thought he’d be so happy. He’s been just  _ miserable  _ since you left.”

He might as well have been disintegrated by his rifle, because the horrible feeling in his gut must be similar to being destroyed on an atomic level. He feels guilt and shame morph into  _ sick. _

“He’s barely been eating,” Jaylen says. “It’s like he’s mourning you--”

“Shut up!” Ari hisses, elbowing him hard.

It takes every bit of strength he has to stay standing. Or resist the urge to throw up. “Where?” he whispers.

They just shrug at him.

He turns and shoulders his rifle, swallowing back the tingling in his mouth, and limps on down the hallway. His room is close, his door slightly raised open, and he all but falls through it. He slams the button to close it before he collapses on the floor, rips off his helmet, and lets it clatter to the floor as his hands come to hold his screaming knee.

_ What have I done?  _ he thinks, the emotion overwhelming in his chest.  _ What did I do to you? For what? _

As a lump forms in his throat and he tries desperately to keep from throwing up, he hears the soft whimper.

He looks up, taking deep and shaky breaths, and his eyes dart around the room.  _ “Ad’ika?”  _ he whispers.  _ “Ad’ika…”  _

He’s only met with silence. There’s a little shuffling sound, like fabric against stone, and he looks towards the bed. He stares at the small space beneath it, meant for storage, and then begins to drag himself over. It’s a struggle with only one arm to pull and his left leg dragging, but he manages to pull himself beside the bed. He lays down on his back, his cloak pinned beneath him.

He looks under the bed to see a little shape, difficult to see in the dark, but the large green ears make the baby easier to spot. Din can feel his eyes on him, and the child sniffles, letting out a whimper.

“Hey,” he whispers, reaching a hand beneath the bed. It’s too big and too far, the child tucking himself against the wall, his reaching falling just short. He can brush his fingers against the robe if he tries, but the kid pushes against the wall.

_ He’s trying to get away from me,  _ he realizes, and suddenly it’s hard to breathe as tears threaten to form.

“I’m so,  _ so  _ sorry,  _ ad’ika.” _

He’s met with a soft, mournful little coo, and an even smaller  _ “buir.” _

_ “Buir,”  _ he whispers, quickly wiping at his eyes. “Yeah.  _ Buir.  _ I’m back. I’m home. I’m never going to leave you like that again, o-okay? I promise. Never again.  _ Never  _ again.”

He reaches for the kid again, this time just letting the tips of his fingers brush against the robe, and he sniffs. “I-I found someone to teach you,” he says. “T-To use… to use your powers right. She’s nice. She’s very nice,  _ ad’ika,  _ and Takodana, it’s… it’s so beautiful--” he bites back a sob. “It’s… it’s-- _ ad’ika _ , please, oh stars,  _ please  _ come out. I’m so sorry.  _ Ni ceta. Ni ceta, ik’aad. Ni eparavur takisit.” _

He hears sniffling, and then crying,  _ “buir”  _ just barely audible over a sob.

_ Oh, stars.  _ He wipes madly at his own tears, taking in a rattling breath. “I’m so sorry,” he whispers again. “You’re coming with me, okay? Okay? As soon as I heal we’ll get on the  _ Crest  _ and we’ll go to Takodana. You’ll get to s-see the stars a-again. You love the stars. You can mash as many stupid buttons as you want. I’ll let you play with the joystick. You c-can…”

The door slides open.  _ “Djarin--”  _ Paz’s voice comes through, the shadow of the Mandalorian looming in the doorway, and he glances down at the forgotten helmet.

“Get out!” Din hisses.

Paz simply steps back and the door shuts again.

When silence settles, Din turns to look under the bed again. “Please,” he whispers.  _ “Gedet’ye.  _ Please. Come out. Come here. I’m  _ home.  _ I made a mistake in leaving you and I’m never going to do that again. Please,  _ ad’ika?” _

His voice cracks on the last word. He stretches out his hand, palm up, a peace offering. The child stares back at him, another hiccupy sob escaping, and his small body  _ shakes  _ with the force of it and the guilt is eating him  _ alive. _

“I’ll fix it,” he says. “Whatever it takes, I’ll make it up to you,  _ ad’ika.  _ Please let me.”

The child stares at him, then begins to move. It’s slow, simply inching forward. He reaches out and touches Din’s hand, a clawed hand curling around a finger, squeezing.

“I’m real,” he whispers. “I’m right here.”

The child looks at him again. Then, he moves forward. He crawls on top of Din’s hand, and as soon as he has a grip on the baby, Din pulls his arm back and drags the kid straight into a hug. The child sobs into his shoulder, claws coming to grab at his armor and cloak, and shudders rack Din’s body as he struggles to hold back a sob.

_ I only meant to protect you, but I just made things worse. _

He took the kid’s well-deserved sense of security in the covert and shattered it.

He doesn’t remember crawling into bed, but he wakes up there. His head aches and his skin feels crusted from the tears that have dried. He slowly opens his eyes, then hears a soft coo, and looks down at the little child on his chest. His armor is still on, the child sleeping on top of the beskar.

Din rubs at his eyes, then sits up. He holds the child to his chest and brings his legs around, but stops himself. He most certainly set himself back in the healing process by the day’s endeavors. He reaches down and prods at his knee, wincing. “Dammit,” he mutters.

The kid’s eyes blink open, and he stares up at Din, looking sleepy.  _ “Buir?”  _ he whispers.

“I’m here, kid,” he says. He slides with his back against the wall, holding the kid tight in his arms. “I’m right here.”

For a few minutes, they just sit. The kid soon begins to squirm in his arms and Din lets him slip through to his lap. Then the child slides off him entirely and instead begins to wander towards his knee, placing his hand over the brace.

“No, no,” Din says quickly, scooping the child back into his arms, and he sets him back in his lap. “You’ll fall. Just stay here.”

The kid makes a soft coo.

On the other side of the room, the door slides open. Paz stands there, arms crossed, and looking down at the floor. “You’re awake.”

Din doesn’t respond.

“Put the helmet on. We need to talk. Come on.”

Din frowns. “Give me time with the kid.”

“You had no problem leaving him before. Let’s go.”

Din scowls and stands, all his weight on one leg. “What the hell, Vizla? I’m here now. The kid is okay.”

“Put the damn helmet on.”

It’s still sitting on the floor by the entrance and Paz kicks it towards Din, sending it rolling across the floor. Din glares at him, then grabs the helmet and slides it on. “What is your  _ problem?” _

“My  _ problem,”  _ Paz snaps, “is that you’ve taken in a foundling you have no idea how to care for. You have  _ no  _ instincts or even an inkling of understanding about what it takes to rear a child. Everyone told you not to leave, that it was a bad idea. You still went anyway, abandoning him in the night for a fool’s quest!”

Din scowls and puts the kid on the bed. “I did  _ not  _ abandon him,” he says, “and it wasn’t a fool’s quest. I found exactly what I was looking for!”

_ Why are you letting him rile you up? _

“As far as the kid was concerned, you ditched him,” Paz throws back, stepping closer. “You weren’t here. He came  _ looking  _ for you. You didn’t hear him ask for you again and again, you didn’t hear him cry for hours on end. You didn’t have to pull out every trick in the book and watch them all fail because the person he wanted was gone. You didn’t see him just sit there and stare at nothing like he’d lost all his purpose!”

Din stares at him, his stomach twisting in guilt, before he grabs the nearby chair and swings himself closer.

_ He’s talking about the kid now. That’s why. _

“That’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make,” Din hisses.

He’s not ready for Paz to lunge at him. When he’s seized by the helmet, fingers gripping its edge, and nearly thrown into the table and chairs, he doesn’t have time or the balance to react. The wood splinters under him. He hits the floor, the jolt going through his whole body.

_ “You’re  _ willing to make?” Paz stands over him. “How can you only think of yourself and still try to call yourself a  _ buir?” _

“You aren’t even trying to understand! The kid needs this to protect him--”

“The kid needs a real father, not an imposter. You’re nothing but a  _ hut’uun.” _

Din’s hand flies for his vibroblade.

He only manages one good swipe at Paz’s armor before his arm is caught, twisted, and Paz throws an arm around his waist. He’s picked up like he weighs nothing and thrown at the opposite wall. He hits with his shoulder first, then helmet, the pain of impact spreading through his whole body, and for a moment he wonders how much he can physically take before it’s lights out.

“The one good thing you’ve done for this kid is bring him here. And steal him from Nevarro, I guess, but that was  _ after  _ you handed over a child to the Empire for payment.” Paz comes towards him again. “You don’t  _ deserve  _ to wear that beskar.”

_ “Shabuir,”  _ Din hisses, struggling to stand up.

Paz scowls and grabs him again by his arm.  _ “Chakaaryc.” _

Din raises his arm, but looks down and realizes he has no flamethrower, removed in favor of the plastoid cast.  _ Shit,  _ he thinks, when a punch comes across his helmet, beskar slamming together.

The child makes a distressed whimper.

Din collapses to the side, his head spinning, but again struggles to get up. “I’m his father,” he spats. “I’m his guardian. It’s my decision.”

“You’ll lead him off a cliff because you forgot he’s there,” Paz says. “He needs better.”

“Like you?”

“Like anyone!”

“So you’re going to do this in front of him?”

Paz looks towards the kid, who is staring at them with frightened eyes. For a moment, all goes still, and Din lets out a breath of relief.

“Good idea.” His blood freezes. “We’ll take it outside.”

“Shit, wait—“ he starts, and a memory flashes across his mind. Two teenage boys who were complete opposites, unable to live with those differences in close quarters.  _ Sparring matches that always went too far.  _ Seeing the healer again and again and again for black eyes and bloody noses. Him, always on the losing end. Din had been a small kid, and it’d seemed like he’d be small forever until his growth spurt hit. 

_ This isn’t the kid. It’s your pride. _

“Paz,” he starts, his blood beginning to cool. “Stop. Stop. Wait. Let’s just—“

Paz grabs his arm and pulls him to his feet, then shoves him towards the door. His knee can’t support him and he goes straight to the ground, helmet hitting  _ hard _ , but the force of it still sends him sliding into the hallway.

His body is screaming in protest of its treatment, even as the beskar is taking the brunt of it.

Desperation creeps in, but his vision is swimming. Paz is more than capable of killing him, accidental or not. He tastes bile in his mouth as he backs up against the wall, pulling his blaster from his holster. He points it up at Paz as he approaches, curled in tight like when he faced down Jakashi’in. His hand trembles so badly he could never get a clean shot. His vision is going. His head hurts  _ so bad. _

Paz steps through the door. He stops. “Din?” he hears. It’s like he’s in a tunnel. “Oh, shit. No, Din, no—Din? Can you hear me?”

He slumps over, ripped from the light once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando'a  
> Ni yaim -- I'm home  
> Ni ceta -- sorry (lit. I kneel) - groveling apology, rarely used  
> Eparavur takisit -- apology  
> Gedet'ye -- please  
> Hut'uun -- coward (worst insult)  
> Shabuir -- extreme insult, like 'jerk' but stronger  
> Chakaaryc -- rotten, lowlife, someone with dubious ethics
> 
> Two honor-obsessed men disagreeing about the kid's future? Emotions already high? They have a history of going at it? Sounds like a recipe for a brawl to me. And one that gets just a little out of hand on account of Din already being hurt.
> 
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	4. The Decree

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Din struggles to breathe. _No,_ he thinks desperately, as she turns and walks out with an air of finality.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a bit hard to write because it's turning a little bit from my original outline. Next chapter will be right back on track, but Din's injuries gave me a lil too much freedom in between two plot points.
> 
> Din's pettiness levels are functioning at a strong 1000%.
> 
> Come join the covert on [ discord](https://discord.gg/UwZuG6N)  
> Send any prompts or requests over to my [ tumblr](https://coffeequill.tumblr.com/)

The monitor passes over his helmet, the red light shining off the beskar, a small whirling noise being emitted before it all shuts off and he squirms to get as comfortable as he can.

“You’re concussed,” the healer says, voice as serious as ever. “You’re not damaged, but it’s still concerning.”

Din glares at Paz, who stands in the doorway without looking at them.

“Your wrist is healing well. That’s not a concern. You have plenty of bruising. You’ve aggravated the surgical incision on your abdomen, barely avoided opening it again, and you’ve damaged the healing of your torn ligament. I don’t know what you two were fighting over, but I damn well hope it was worth the cost.”

The healer gives both an angry stare before stalking off to deal with the sick Foundling nearby. Beside Din, the child coos, sitting next to the pillow.

“Great,” he grumbles.

“I apologized,” Paz says.

“Well, at least that’s a change from when we were kids.”

“Din.”

“Don’t. I don’t care.”

Din shifts his leg. His knee is once again trapped in place, this time by a durasteel brace that allows no movement at all. At least the pain inhibitors are kicking in, and stars, he’s not going to have any freedom for a while. It could be months until he gets the kid to Takodana. 

He sits up slowly, then lifts the kid into his lap. “Are you okay?” he murmurs. “You’re lucky they let you in here.”

The kid coos, staring up at Din.

Apparently the little tike had started screaming when he saw Din lying still on the ground, and louder when he saw Din being dragged off to the healer. Only when he was allowed on the bed with him had he calmed down.

Paz looks over now, his arms crossed. “I’m  _ sorry,”  _ he says. “I… took it too far.”

“You always took it too far,” Din says. “You  _ liked  _ taking it too far. It made you look strong and me look weak.”

Paz stares at him. “Are you using this to bring up all those past issues?” he says. “Din. We’re not kids anymore. We moved past that.”

“I thought we had, too.”

“This wasn’t—“ Paz pauses. “No. This wasn’t that. This wasn’t… me being stupid and beating you down just because I could. This was… not the best course of action, but I meant every word I said.”

Din glares at him. Stars, he just wants to take his helmet off. He wants to shower. He wants to feel clean and wash off the events of the day. “You meant calling me  _ hut’uun?  _ And  _ chakaaryc?” _

“Din,” Paz says. “Please. Can you drop the pettiness?”

Din drags the kid into his arms. “I think the kid is still shaken up,” he says. “You should give him some time alone with me.”

“Really? You’re going to use the kid to—“

“Why is it always you two causing trouble?”

Both turn as the Armorer steps into the doorway of the infirmary. Paz’s head drops in both shame and respect as Din just lets his eyes shut, internally groaning, and his head lowers.

“I heard of a fight,” the Armorer says, and her tone drips with quiet fury. “Per usual, it is only you two with the impulsiveness and pride to do such a thing. In front of an emotionally exhausted child, no doubt.”

The kid is curled up against his shoulder, his breathing soft as he rests against Din.

“I knew what I was doing,” Din says, gritting his teeth as he tries to move his stiffening knee. “I found exactly what I wanted to find. I found someone who can teach the kid what he needs to know. He  _ has  _ to learn to protect himself. His mind is at risk if he doesn’t.”

“His mind,” the Armorer repeats.

“Yes. The jedi can use mind tricks to manipulate others. To influence them. The kid needs to learn… it’s called ‘shielding’. He needs to be taught how to make shields and be safe from bad influence. I  _ have _ to get him back to Takodana.”

For a moment, she simply looks at him, and Din feels horribly vulnerable just lying in the bed with nowhere to go, even as his helmet masks his face. She brings her arms up to cross them over her chest.

“No,” she says. “You are not taking the child to Takodana.”

The breath is knocked out of him. He tries to sit up, wincing as pain bites at his abdomen, but he holds himself up as the kid slides into his lap. “I  _ have  _ to,” he says. “It’s not about me, I said I would come back with the kid and Maz Kanata can teach him. He’ll be safe. It’s the only way he’ll be safe!”

“You are  _ hurt,  _ Din Djarin,” she says in a tight, angry voice. He begins to shrink back. “You are physically unable to walk. As long as your wrist is casted, you lose important hand function. This concussion, as I’m told, is serious. You would not be able to leave here in any reasonable amount of time and still be capable of fighting.”

Din stares at her, feeling his chest fall. The kid slips out of his lap.

“But the child must be taught, as you have said,” she says. “The importance of the child learning self-defense cannot be overstated. He will be taken to Takodana to this teacher, but you will not be the one to do so.”

“W-What?” Din says.

The Armorer turns. “Paz Vizla,” she says, and Paz looks up to meet her gaze. “The child has grown attached to you in Din’s absence. You will fly him to Takodana in the  _ Razor Crest  _ and find this teacher. When this has been fulfilled, you will return with him.”

“No!” Din says, and when he sees the child placing a hand on his knee brace, he grabs him and scoops him back to his lap. “I only just got back and now you’ll have us separated again? I know where the castle is. Maz Kanata is expecting  _ me  _ to come with the kid, not him!”

“Djarin,” the Armorer says, sounding impatient with him. “You’ve made the point about the need to teach the child. We will not contest that he requires a teacher. But you have been decommissioned by these injuries and it seems that the faster the child is taught, the better.”

“But…” he trails off. He looks down at the kid, who is fidgety in his arms. “I need to protect him.”

“You were hunted?” the Armorer asks.

He looks up, then nods.

“You were forced into a crash landing. You sustained most of these injuries from it. You were barely quick enough to kill the hunter when he came after you.”

Din pauses, remembering the holocall.

“If you’d had the child with you to worry over, do you not think you would have been slower? Killed or captured, both of you taken in for bounties? Perhaps the child could have been killed in the initial crash.”

Din stares at her, and his breath begins to come too quickly. The anxiety that he has started becoming familiar with is back in his stomach, in his chest, his arms. His heart starts beating  _ hard  _ in his chest as he thinks on her words and what very well could have happened.

“We will not risk a Foundling,” she says, “with a Mandalorian who is unable to care for them. Paz will take the child and you will remain with the covert. Your time on the surface is over.”

Din struggles to breathe.  _ No,  _ he thinks desperately, as she turns and walks out with an air of finality.

In years past, when he’s been confined to the tunnels of the covert, he withdrew from the others. Cross about being trapped, he would isolate himself in his room and would wait for others to leave the training rooms before he would go to practice. Only the kids would bother him, thrilled that he was trapped with them and had plenty of time to tell stories.

Now, he’s freshly clean, his face shaved, his hair finally trimmed after too long without, and he stares at the ceiling of his room while trying to suppress the urge to shoot something. He’s supposed to take a nap, supposed to avoid stimulation. But stars, he doesn’t want to.

_ “Buir?” _

This is just punishment for leaving the kid. It has to be. The Mandalorians leave their Foundlings behind all the time when leaving for their turn on the surface, though only ones with older charges are allowed to go. The kid was  _ fine.  _ He seems  _ fine. _

He turns, stares at the pair of durasteel crutches by the wall, and slams his fist down on the mattress. The kid makes a surprised squeak from his place on Din’s chest and Din sighs, “Sorry.”

Paz and the kid leave tomorrow, and this time it will be him who is left behind.

Paz fucking Vizla.

_ He stumbles backwards and lands on his back against the training mat, all the breath forced out of his lungs by the kick. He curls to protect his middle, gasping. “I wasn’t… ready! Paz!” _

_ “Cry about it, Djarin.” _

He winces, covering his eyes with his forearm.  _ Cry about it.  _ How often did Paz throw that line at him? Once, he’d been found curled up in a sewer tunnel further away from the covert, crying after a humiliating fight he’d lost by considerable margins in front of most of the clan. His tears had wet the inside of his helmet, his breathing only made obvious by the voice modulator -- and his own  _ buir  _ had been the one to find him.

The clear disappointment, there to see whenever Din closed his eyes.

It had taken years to live that down, especially when Paz and Ravani heard of it -- and those two had been absolute terrors who seemed to make a game of humiliating Din.

Something in Din just can’t quite forgive, no matter how much Paz has changed since. He looks on his own childhood with shame. He makes fists at his side and curses himself and wonders why he’d been so  _ laandur.  _ Even his  _ buir  _ occasionally looked at him and just sighed after another lost fight.

_ “Buir!” _

The kid has wandered down towards his knee again, placing two little hands on the durasteel brace, and Din huffs. “What? It’s shiny? Stop.” He scoops the kid into his lap. “Yes. I’m hurt. My knee hurts. Stop touching it.”

The kid lets out a whimper, looking up at him.

Din grumbles beneath his breath. No, he can’t just sit. He’s too used to moving. Sleep isn’t coming anytime soon. He reaches over towards the crutches, straining to reach, then lets out a swear.  _ Well, shit.  _ He put them too far away. “Perfect,” he mutters.

The kid coos, watching.

Din places the kid beside him on the bed and moves closer, annoyed further by the fact that it’s his immobilized leg that’s in the way. “Stars,  _ kriff,  _ just-- _ shit!” _

He leans too far and almost yelps as he hits the ground, catching his upper body on his forearms, and his wrist  _ throbs  _ beneath the casting. He grits his teeth and slowly pushes himself up, then grabs onto the wall for support as he stands up on one leg.

Then looks over to see the two crutches hovering in front of him. He turns to look at the kid, who has his arm outstretched, and he gives Din a happy shriek.

Din sighs and grabs the crutches out of the air.

He swings himself down the hall, body aching on every level, but he’s tired of being bedridden and he’s never been good with following medical orders anyway. He’s  _ starving  _ for real food. He moves down the hall, a bit awkward with a knee that won’t bend, and brings himself into the main room. At his chest, the container sits, the kid happily placed inside with his fish.

A few Mandalorians sit around, looking up at him. He doesn’t bother with a greeting, and neither do they, so he just moves through towards the kitchen.

“Din!”

Din looks over his shoulder, then sighs as a few of the kids come running up—Ari at the helm, per usual. “Are you okay?” she says, voice worried. “We’re sorry about the door.”

The child coos, looking up towards Din.

“It’s… fine,” he says. “That was Paz. Not you.”

J’ian looks at him, “Why were you fighting?”

Din glances at them, then at the kid. “Uh,” he mutters. “It was… a disagreement. We took it a little too far.”

“He hurt you,” Ari says, sounding sad.

“I was already hurt,” Din says. “It’s just… a little worse now, I guess.”

“Was the trip bad?” Jaylen asks.

“No, it was… um. I found what I was looking for. I needed to find someone who can teach him to use his powers right. I found them.”

“So you’re taking him to them?”

“No. I’m not. Paz is.”

“Why?”

“I—“ he grits his teeth, vision blurry. Maybe he really does need to sleep. “The matriarch said so. I’m too hurt.”

They all stare at him. Without faces, he can’t tell what they’re thinking, though Ari has crossed her arms and  _ she’s  _ not happy. “They’re going to make you separate again.”

“It’s to keep him safe,” Din says.  _ I could keep him safe.  _ “He needs this training. Paz can protect him.”  _ I just want it to be me. _

The kid makes a soft cooing noise. J’ian leans forward. “Can he play with us?” she asks.

“We’re about to eat,” he says, “so just a few minutes.”

He reaches down and lifts the child out of the carrier with one arm, earning an inquisitive little gurgle, and holds him out towards Ari. He’s passed over, exchanging hands, and Ari brings him to her chest.

Then, a piercing scream startles the air, and everyone winces. “Hey!” Din says, and he grabs the kid back from Ari, shifting his balance to one leg as his crutches fall. “Hey, hey,  _ ad’ika,  _ stop!”

The kid falls quiet, staring up at Din with big, frightened eyes.  _ “Buir!”  _ he whimpers, reaching up towards him.

“Shh.” Din cradles him on in arm, then reaches down and grabs a crutch to lean on. “Shh. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere. They just want to play with you. You like playing.”

“N… Nuh… No!”

Din stares at him, eyes wide behind his visor. “Since when did you start saying  _ that?” _

The kid just whimpers.

Din frowns. “Everything is alright,” he says. “Go with Ari. Play tag, you love tag. I’ll come get you when I have dinner for us, okay?”

He holds his arm out to Ari. Reluctantly, she steps forward and reaches for the kid. Before she can even touch him, though, another deafening scream rings out and Din jerks the kid back to his chest. Immediately, the child scrabbles at his armor, fighting to climb up onto his shoulder. Din gives him a boost and the child squeaks, claws digging into his neck guard.

“Maybe later,” Ari says in a small voice.

“What the hell is going on?”

They turn to see Paz walking into the room. He stops at the sight of Din and the kids, his posture tensing. “Why are you up?” he asks.

“I’m hungry.”

“Why’s he screaming this time?”

Din hides a wince beneath the helmet, wondering if the kid’s screaming was a regular thing during his absence. “The kids want to play with him,” he says. “He won’t let go.”

“He won’t?”

“No,” Din says. “He just starts screaming.”

Paz walks over, and Din swallows and forces himself not to flinch. “Give him to me.”

“He’s going to start up again,” Din says. “No.”

“He might not with me.”

Din stares at him for a moment. Paz sighs. “Din,” he says. “He has to separate from you if I’m going to take him to Takodana. He was with me for all the time you were gone. He might be willing to come with me rather than the kids.”

“Fine,” Din says. “You try to get him off me, then.”

Paz steps closer, uncomfortably close, and puts a hand on the child’s back.  _ “Verd’ika,”  _ he murmurs. “You want to come with  _ ba’vodu?” _

The kid whimpers.  _ No. Stay.  _ Din startles as the thought seems to force its way into his mind, like a foreign voice has started whispering at the back of his mind. An uncomfortable feeling begins, spreading down through his body.  _ Stay. Stay. Don’t go. _

“Paz,” he begins, his throat dry.

“Here.” Paz says, and his hands come to take hold of the kid. “He’ll be fi--”

The kid throws a hand out, and suddenly, Paz is shoved back with such force that he goes tumbling several feet backwards, just barely catching himself to come to a stop. The room falls dead silent as everyone stares. The kid lets out a wail, clinging to Din with all the strength he has.

The emotion being forced into his mind is  _ overwhelming. _

_ Don’tgodon’tgodon’tgodon’tgodon’tgo.  _ It’s repeated in a rapid mantra, and no matter how hard he tries, he can’t force the thought out. He tries to bring up something different, anything different than the horrifically desperate pleading, but nothing works. Not even the worst memories of his  _ buir’s  _ disapproval, locked away deep in his subconscious and dragged to the surface, can break through.

He collapses to the ground, hands trembling as he grasps at the child. He feels sick. “Stop,” he pleads, as tears form in his eyes. “Stop.  _ Stop.  _ Please,  _ gedet’ye, gev! Gev, gev--” _

The mantra stops. He grips the kid, no attempt to move him, his stomach twisting itself into knots, and he holds in a pained sob. He gasps for breath. The emotion is no longer being forced onto him, but it’s still felt, still lingering, and suddenly he desperately wants to be in any other body but his own.

_ Did I do this to you?  _ he thinks, once he can finally conjure a thought.

There is no response in his mind. He almost finds himself silly for expecting one.

_ This is what I felt. _

He shudders. His tears hidden beneath the helmet, he pulls the kid into his arms, and curls up as tight as he can. He finds himself rocking like that, a gloved hand coming to stroke the child’s ears, and he manages to muffle his sob in the fold of the brown robe.

_ I’m sorry,  _ he thinks,  _ I’m so, so sorry. _

No response comes this time, and when he finally looks up, the room has been vacated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando'a:  
> hut'uun -- coward (worst insult to a Mando)  
> chakaaryc -- lowlife, one with dubious ethics  
> laandur -- weak, delicate  
> verd'ika -- little soldier (affectionate for a child)  
> gedet'ye -- please  
> gev -- stop it! (exclamation)
> 
> Din faces what he's actually done to the kid. This chapter is a bit shorter than I usually would prefer, but only by about a page and the moment with din and baby just felt like the right ending.
> 
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	5. The Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paz gestures towards the sleeping cot, tucked in the alcove away from the cargo. “Sit down before your knee starts killing you,” he says. “We’ll talk this out. Like adults. We figure out whatever this is so the kid doesn’t have the two people he likes always fighting. You’re my brother, Din, not my enemy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year! We're nearing the end for this fic, but we'll start up again with the next in the series.
> 
> This chapter delves into the past and a discussion about childhood bullying.
> 
> Come join the covert on [ discord](https://discord.gg/UwZuG6N)  
> Send any prompts or requests over to my [ tumblr](https://coffeequill.tumblr.com/)

When Din is finally able to move, he heads straight back into their rooms. He closes the door, sets the lock, and rips off his helmet. He gasps for breath, then sinks to the floor, the kid held in his lap.

He can’t stop shaking. It feels like he has no control over his body and it’s  _ terrifying.  _ “What did you do to me?” he whispers. “What  _ was  _ that?”

The kid just stares up at him, his eyes shining with tears, and Din wipes at his own.

Never in his life has he felt emotion so strongly. Not as a child, certainly not as an adult. The feeling has passed, but he still feels shaken beyond stability.  _ This is the punishment,  _ he thinks. Nothing the Armorer can decide can be as horrible as feeling what the child did. Strip him of his armor, take his helmet, break his Creed. He’d rather be cast out than feel such a thing again.

“I love you.” The words come out shaky. “I love you so much.  _ Ad’ika. Cyar’ika.” _

Small hands grasp at his arm.

Something inside breaks like a dam.

When the next morning arrives, there is a quiet hush that falls over the covert. The events of the night before are whispered about, no one understanding exactly what happened. The child’s distress could be understood. Even the push against Paz could be comprehended.

But not a single person understood why, after those events, Din had fallen to the ground in hysterics, begged for something to stop, and began crying as he rocked the child.

“He’s not okay,” Paz says. “I’m concerned. He’s seemed… unstable since he got back.”

“He’s not unstable,” the Armorer says, stepping around the forge. “Emotionally, yes, he is, but not mentally. This is brand new territory for someone like him. Unfortunately, this requires failure to learn, and failure can be painful. You must understand that.”

Paz frowns. “I do understand that,” he says. “But at the expense of the child?”

“How else is he to learn?”

“When he refuses to listen to the advice of those who know better--”

“Paz,” she says. Her voice is firm, but not angry. “We must let him fail at times so that he learns. Leaving the child behind was a costly move, but one he will not repeat after seeing the results. This is how he grows.”

Paz frowns. “What about Takodana?” he says. “The kid freaked after just leaving Din’s  _ arms.  _ There’s no way I’ll be able to take him to another planet without making the damage much worse than it is. He needs the teacher, but he’ll be broken before we get there.”

“Din will go with you,” the Armorer says.

“What? You  _ just  _ told him he was to stay in the covert.”

“Decisions are changed after new developments arise,” she says. “The child needs to master this power. There are too many possible dangers if he doesn’t. As the child will not part from Din, he will simply have to accompany you.” She turns and picks up a tool from the table. “He is weakened from his injuries. He will carry the child to the location and make use of his blaster. You will be there in case of hunters.”

“I just… the two of us don’t--”

She turns to look at him.

Paz doesn’t continue.

“You two have a past that still leaves him scarred,” she says, turning again. “I understand this, and it is unfortunate. Placing the two of you in the small quarters of the  _ Razor Crest  _ may just be asking for tension or even another fight.” She draws some of the molten metal into a holder. “But this is about the child and his safety, not you two.”

“I just don’t understand why he hasn’t moved on from what happened,” Paz says. “We haven’t had a… I haven’t done anything to him with those same intentions in years. The last two times had a real cause.”

“I suppose you think that’s important,” she says. “Are you thinking of how the last two times you brawled with Din, you were the one to take things to a physical level? How both times, it was because he did something that you disagreed with? How he may interpret that as you continuing to exert power over his autonomy?”

Paz is quiet.

“I understand your feelings being so strong,” the Armorer says. She pours the metal into a cast. “Your love for the covert and the child aren’t in question. But the two of you are reacting with emotion, and it is running unchecked. This emotion stems from your childhood issues that have gone unresolved. You must fix those before any progress can be made.”

Paz sighs. “I didn’t realize they were still issues. I have apologized to him for… what I was like at that age. He’s still holding on.”

“You didn’t realize because you were not the one who was hurt,” the Armorer says. “Din holds on because he still hurts. Our childhoods are what shape us. The aggression you once bore can be changed, fixed, with maturity and self reflection. But the emotional wounds never closed for him in an environment that never taught him to heal. These wounds are carried with him and can flare at their choosing. The two of you must find out how to close them.”

Paz stares at her. “I don’t know how I’ll get him to comply with that,” he says. “He’d rather avoid me.”

“The cockpit of a ship is rather small,” she says. “And you will have the eyes of a child. Make of that what you will.”

Paz grumbles, then nods in understanding.

“The kid won’t leave you, so you’re coming,” Paz says. “Grab your and the kid’s stuff.”

For a second, Din just stares. Then he nods and walks back into his room. Paz waits.

He was expecting some sort of retort. Some sarcasm. A jeer. Din doesn’t respond at all.  _ Maybe the concussion is… that bad. _

From inside the room, there’s a soft whimper and some shushing. Paz leans against the doorway to watch, sees the kid has been placed on the bed as Din readies his weapons and is holding his arms out to be held again. Once Din has his rifle strapped across his chest, he grabs the carrier and the kid, placing him inside.

“Shh,” Din says when the kid continues fussing. “You’ve got your toy. Shh.”

Once the kid settles, Din places the carrier on his back and grabs his crutches. For no expression and limited body language, Paz can feel the irritation coming off him in waves.

“Thought you’d be happy about this,” Paz says.

“Don’t,” Din snaps.

“I’m not trying to start anything.”

“Then don’t.”

This is going to be fun.

There’s multiple exits to the city, and Paz leads them towards the one that’s used for industrial shipments, the least likely to have a large amount of people going through. No one needs the sight of not just two Mandalorians, but one on crutches, to whisper about and spread around. They walk in silence, Paz letting Din set the pace, and the kid coos inside the carrier.

It’s a longer walk to the  _ Crest,  _ but it’s worth the detour.

“Why am I suddenly free?” Din asks, and luckily, he sounds more inquisitive than angry.

“The kid’s decided you two are a package deal,” Paz says. “There’s no way to get him there without you.”

“Great,” Din says. “Somehow, I was hoping I’d earned forgiveness.”

“It’s not about forgiveness, Din. You’re hurt. You could never take the child alone and reasonably protect him and yourself. It’s a safer bet for you to stay home and  _ rest.  _ I don’t know why you find that difficult.”

“It all just feels like a big punishment.”

“It’s not supposed to be. You seem resistant to the idea that we actually care about you.”

Din doesn’t respond.

The  _ Razor Crest  _ comes into view and Din stops to hit the button for the ramp. It’s a bit of a struggle to get him up the ramp, but it’s nothing agonizing. After he’s in, Paz hits the control panel and walks towards the ladder. “Get the kid settled,” he says. “I’ll get us in the air.”

“I’m flying,” Din says.

“You can fly if you can get up the ladder using all your limbs.”

Din doesn’t respond, and Paz lets him stew in silence.

He used to fly the  _ Crest  _ before Din took it over so he’s familiar with the controls as he guides her into the air. Over the rumble of the engine, he can’t hear anything from below, but soon the ship is pulling away from the atmosphere and they leave behind blue skies for the stars.

Before long, the ship has stabilized, and the navigation is bringing them towards Takodana. Hyperspace is an option here, and if he pulls the lever, they’ll arrive in very short time.

But the lever stays, and Paz activates autopilot before he stands from the chair. He glances at the dash and frowns at the lever handles that have been unscrewed and are missing.  _ Does he take it apart in his spare time? _

He climbs down the ladder and turns to the sight of Din standing beside the automated compartment, placing the kid down on some makeshift bedding that’s really just layered blankets. The kid is asleep, wrapped up in the knitted blanket, and Din gives him a soft caress before he flicks off the lights and shuts the door.

“He’s usually active this time,” Paz says.

“He didn’t sleep,” Din says.

“Nightmares?”

“No, he was watching me,” Din says. “Started freaking out if he thought I was getting up without him. I don’t think he trusts me anymore.”

“Children have unshaped minds,” Paz says. “They don’t look to the future, only the past. Trust is easily lost and hard to regain.”

Din nods, staring at the door. Then he seems to snap out of it. “Why aren’t we jumping?”

“We have time,” Paz says. “Takodana is not as far as it could be. No rush.”

Din looks at him. “What if we’re being hunted?”

“We’ll deal with it then.” Paz looks back. “We need the time to talk.”

Din doesn’t move for a second, then gets up. “I’ll fly if you won’t.”

“Din,” Paz says. “Please. For the kid’s sake, we need to get through this. I spoke with the Armorer and she… enlightened me to things you may be feeling that I didn’t realize.”

“Things that I’m  _ feeling?”  _ Din snaps. “I’m not concerned about my  _ feelings.” _

“Maybe you should be,” Paz says. “Please. For the kid’s sake.”

Din stares at him.

Paz gestures towards the sleeping cot, tucked in the alcove away from the cargo. “Sit down before your knee starts killing you,” he says. “We’ll talk this out. Like adults. We figure out whatever this is so the kid doesn’t have the two people he likes always fighting. You’re my brother, Din, not my enemy.”

For a moment, he thinks Din is going to ignore him. He’s looking towards the cockpit ladder and Paz decides he won’t stop him if he tries. But instead, Din gives a loud sigh, looks down at his leg, then at the compartment. The little tike is still asleep. Finally, he turns and swings himself towards the bed.

The crutches lean against the wall. Din sits. Paz drags over a nearby chair and sits across from him, body open towards both Din and the ladder, in the case that they do actually get attacked and he needs to act. He’s not so foolish as to leave them defenseless.

Especially when this will take a while.

_ “Take off the helmet,” Paz snarled. “You’re not  _ Mando.  _ You’re embarrassing.” _

_ Din let out a cry as Ravani shoved him back, his helmet  _ cracking  _ against the floor of the sewer tunnels. He made a pained whimper, hands gripping into fists. _

_ He began to sit up. “Stop,” he grimaced, his pain obvious through the modulator. “Stop. Go away.” _

“Laandur,”  _ Ravani said with a laugh.  _ “Di’kut.  _ You’re not  _ Mando,  _ you don’t even speak the language.” _

_ “Shut up!” Din hissed, slowly getting to his feet. His balance wavered, staring up at the boys who stood a head taller. “I… I do. I know Mando’a.” _

_ “Other than the Resol’nare?” Paz said with a laugh. “You can’t speak. You can’t fight. No one in the tribe even wants you here. Who actually thinks you deserved to be found?” _

Too much time passes before either actually speaks. Din knows Paz is waiting on him to start. Since it’s apparently about  _ his  _ feelings. He rolls his eyes beneath the visor.

“It…” he pauses. He huffs. “Why me?”

Paz looks at him. “Why what?”

“Why did it have to be me? Why come after me at all?”

“You were small,” Paz says, and he says it so easy that Din looks up in surprise. “You didn’t fight back. Not like others would have. You were small and easy to scare. After you were found after that fight, and we heard about the crying--Ravani just latched onto that. He thought trying to make you cry again was funny.”

Din stares at him. “What about you?” he says. “Was it funny to  _ you?” _

“No,” he says, “not funny. Not to me. But Ravani was my best friend back then and hurting you was… it felt powerful. I’m not proud of that, I’m ashamed of it now. But if I’m being honest with you, it was about the power I didn’t have anywhere else.”

Din swallows. He looks down at his gloves. “So I was the small crier who was easy,” he says.

“I was jealous,” Paz says.

That makes him look up. “Jealous? You just said you picked on me because I was pathetic.”

“That was what made the jealousy worse. You were all those things and still had what I wanted. A loving father.”

Din furrows his brows.  _ “My buir? _ Paz, I was a disappointment before I finally grew. Your  _ buir  _ obviously loved you. He bragged to mine about you.”

“He was proud, but not loving,” Paz says. “I was a fighter. That was my best quality. He liked to brag about his  _ ad  _ winning every fight, but it didn’t matter when there wasn’t an audience.”

Din sits in silence.

“You, on the other hand--you were the scrawny child who lost every fight and still had the love. You didn’t rely on winning to have that love.”

“I wouldn’t have called it love,” he says. “Every time he looked at me, all I felt was the disapproval. I had to have a growth spurt and start winning matches to get any sort of validation.”

_ Another loss, another sigh, another fight that they don’t even discuss anymore. Once, they’d analyzed the matches for improvement. Now, they don’t. _

“Din, you were smart,” Paz says. “You picked up fast. You were good at strategy and seeing all the details in front of you. That was your strength, not brute force. It just took time for your body to catch up with your mind.”

Din frowns. He’d been told as much by his  _ buir.  _ But, somehow, hearing it from Paz, and hearing it so earnestly, it… manages to land differently. “Right,” he says in a soft voice.

“I know we were cruel to you,” Paz says. “I can’t take back what I did. But we’re family, Din, everyone in the covert is. You’re loved and wanted. I hope, one day, you can really accept that.”

Din stares at him and nods.

Paz begins to stand just as muffled whimpering comes from the compartment. Din reaches out and grabs his crutches, but Paz holds a hand out. “Wait.”

“He’s in the dark,” he says. “He’ll freak.”

“Give him a second. He might just put himself back down.”

Din frowns, freezing half-lifted from the cot, and he’s slow to settle back down. The whimpers sound sleepy, then after a moment, begin to pick up. It morphs into the quick, soft whines of a child about to cry. Every part of him aches to get up and open the door, show his face, pull the kid into his arms.

Then, a push at his mind.

He sucks in a breath, barely audible through his helmet, and Paz doesn’t seem to notice. He grimaces as he feels something hard prodding into his thoughts, the feeling that something is  _ there  _ in his skull with him, and his chest is squeezed by the bubbling emotion of being left behind again. Tears are forced into his eyes. He can’t breathe.

But the emotion transforms itself. That fear begins melting into relief, and like a stream, that relief pours into him. Comfort and reassurance begin to take over. Din leans back, able to breathe, and the presence in his mind almost seems to  _ coo  _ at him like the child does.  _ Buir.  _ It appears in his mind, but when he turns his attention on the thought, it feels like a memory--like he’s just heard that word spoken aloud.

_ Ad’ika,  _ he thinks, and the presence rumbles with comfort and warmth. It begins to shrink back, but doesn’t completely leave him, lingering in a small corner of his consciousness. Clinging. Reassuring.

“See?” Paz says. “He’s doing okay.”

“Yeah,” Din mumbles, his thoughts focused towards the cooing presence in his mind.

The  _ Razor Crest  _ lands in a small field, not a far walk from Maz’s castle, and the kid is awake and chatty as they begin to walk. Though he doesn’t speak Mando’a or Basic, he instead jabbers away in what Din assumes is his native language. It’s all shrieks and gurgling and nothing Din can understand. Not that the tike seems to expect an answer.

_ He’s got to be doing something,  _ Din thinks,  _ it’s got to be the Force. Maz better know about it. _

He can’t think of another explanation for how the kid seems to be worming his way into Din’s mind as he pleases. It’s deeply uncomfortable, on one level, to realize his mind is so vulnerable and open to the manipulation of a  _ child.  _ He isn’t sure if it’s his own weakness or the kid is just that strong, but he thinks of how a creature the size of his boot had sent him into absolute hysterics on the floor through the sharing of raw emotion.

He also thinks of how  _ intimate  _ the feeling is. To be defenseless against the kid’s probing is to have his mind, his soul, bared to him. He doesn’t know how to protect his thoughts. He doesn’t know how to stop the flood of emotions the kid forces on him. But there’s just no way that they can make this into a regular occurence.

The kid stares up at him, cooing. At some point, the presence had left his mind, leaving him alone with his thoughts finally private once again. As they walk towards the castle, that presence begins to prod again. Din tenses his jaw.

This time, it feels overly gentle. It does not shove its way in like before, almost giving him the sense of… permission being requested. He hesitates, then sucks in a breath.  _ It’s okay,  _ he thinks.  _ It’s okay. You can come in. _

The presence begins radiating pleasant emotions and it seems to crawl into his consciousness, curling up there, and the kid becomes decidedly settled in the container.

Paz is just as silent, turning his heavy gun on the trees around them, ready to eviscerate whatever may jump out to attack. Din should have his blaster ready to be pulled, but with the kid currently making a home in his mind, it’s difficult to muster any focus. He takes long, deep breaths to keep himself calm. The kid is radiating contentment, but it isn’t strong enough to combat his own nerves.

“You can trust this teacher?” Paz asks.

“Yes,” Din says, “she took care of me while I was hurt.”  _ And was bossy as hell about it. _

Paz seems to take the answer.

Din’s last visit had been entered from the side, as it was the nearest door and avoided the bar. Instead, they walk through the front, and Din stares at the banners and statue.  _ Interesting. _

_ Aaah?  _ the voice in his mind went, cooing.

Din looks down at him.

When they enter, the bar is loud and packed, but it only goes on for a few seconds before the two Mandalorians are noticed. Silence begins as heads turn, and soon a hush falls over the entire place.

“Mandalorians.”

Din looks down at Maz, who adjusts her glasses as she approaches. She looks Paz up and down, then Din, and her expression is one of exasperation. “You could not sit long enough for your body to recover?” she says.

The child is staring at Maz. The presence in his mind tightens, feeling like somehow, claws are digging into his consciousness, gripping  _ him,  _ and his stomach turns. A subtle fear begins creeping in, a nervousness, uneasiness. “Help,” he chokes.

“Din?” Paz says.

“I can’t get him out,” he says. One hand comes to the kid. “He’s… he’s…”

Maz stares up at him, then the child, and after a moment that feels too long, she nods in what seems to be understanding. “I see,” she says. “Come with me. Away from the eyes of others.”

Din grimaces and nods. As they begin to follow Maz through the crowded room, the claws seem to sink deeper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando'a:  
> Cyar'ika -- darling/sweetheart  
> Mando -- Mandalorian, noun or adj.  
> Laandur -- fragile/delicate (as an insult, weak)  
> Di'kut -- idiot, useless, waste of space
> 
> Din and Paz make a start on their path to making peace. Din's responsiveness to the kid's mind prodding may only be encouraging it. And we've made it back to Takodana in one piece!
> 
> Come join the covert on [ discord](https://discord.gg/UwZuG6N)  
> Send any prompts or requests over to my [ tumblr](https://coffeequill.tumblr.com/)


	6. The Lesson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’ve made him cry too many times,” Din mutters under his breath.
> 
> “You are his parent. You will continue to make him cry for years. It is the trouble of raising a child.” She has to raise her voice over the wails.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally! We've gotten back to Maz!
> 
> Come join the covert on [ discord.](https://discord.gg/UwZuG6N)  
> We now have a Nurse Bot!  
> Send any prompts or requests over to my [ tumblr,](https://coffeequill.tumblr.com/) or just come scream at me about the Mandalorian!

Maz leads them down into the castle’s bowels. It’s not the same place where Din was harbored, but it looks similar. She comes to a stop at a table and a few chairs, a woven blanket covering the table, and gestures for them to sit. “Show me the child,” she says.

Din slides into a chair, laying his crutches on the ground, then slips the carrier’s straps off. Setting the container in his lap, he takes hold of the child and lifts him out. He leans forward and places him on the ground in front of Maz -- and when the whimpering starts, keeps his fingers on the boy’s back. The grip tightens on his mind. He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to control his shaking.  _ Oh, stars. Please let go. _

He’s answered back with  _ fear.  _ Fear of being handed over. Fear of being given away, left behind, left with someone like him—and someone not his father.

_ Never,  _ he thinks.  _ You’re mine. You’re mine. I’m not giving you up. _

“Extraordinary,” Maz murmurs. She bends a knee in front of the kid, then removes her glasses, her eyes small without them. “Quite extraordinary.”

“What is…” Din’s voice chokes. “What are you seeing about him? What’s extraordinary?”

“First, I’ve never seen a child of this species. Very small, and very helpless if left on its own. But his light…” she hums. “The Force holds him like a mother holds her child. Tight, warm, encompassing. I have met many jedi in my time, many with brighter or lesser lights. But none as strong as this in a species besides his own. What I sense in him, I once sensed in Master Yoda.”

Din watches.

“He must learn shielding,” she says in a firm voice. “His abilities will be strong and untrained. Many will see this strength as a considerable weapon in the determination of who wins. A clan of Mandalorians may be able to protect him from physical dangers, but he can be corrupted without touch. An unprotected mind is a dangerous thing.”

Din takes a long, deep breath. Maz opens a hand to the child, who looks back at Din with uncertain eyes before he looks to her again. Slowly, the claws dug into him begin to release, and he lets out a gasp of relief. “Stars,” he whispers, relief flooding him -- and this time, he knows, it’s his own emotion he’s feeling.

“What is he doing?” he demands, his voice tight and struggling to keep his composure. “With -- with his mind. What he’s doing to mine. It’s like he’s… digging into me. Holding on. He forces his way in a-and just stays. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to stop him.”

Maz looks at him, then at the kid, who’s beginning to happily play with her fingers. “You’re giving your Mandalorian quite the runaround, hm?” she says. “Such a thing could be considered quite rude.”

“Maz,” Din pleads.

Maz stands and looks at him. “I can sense what he has done,” she says. “It is referred to as a  _ Force bond.  _ It is a union of two people, bound through the Force, on a mental and emotional level. I believe it was intentionally formed between a jedi master and their padawan, or student. It allows mental communication and a deeper understanding of the other. It is the connection of minds.”

He swallows. “He… he created this… Force bond. Between us?”

“You are his primary caretaker?” Maz says. “His parental figure?”

Din nods. “I’ve adopted him,” he says. “By Mandalorian custom, I’m his father.”

“Then he sees you as such. He has created this bond with one he looks to as a parent.”

“Wait. If this was… a jedi and their student, you said, right? They used the Force bond? They would both be Force… controllers.” He pauses. “I don’t have the Force.”

“Of course you have the Force.”

Din stares at her, then glances at Paz, who has been staring at him almost nonstop since they met Maz. He looks at Maz again. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ve never used the Force in my life. I didn’t even know what it was until this one came along.”

“You have the Force,” Maz says, now with a firmer voice. “You are alive, aren’t you? The Force flows through all living things. It exists in you, in your clan, through  _ life.  _ The only difference between you and I is that you do not have the means to control it.”

“So…” Din sucks in a breath. “Am I… he puts thoughts in my mind. He’s made me feel his emotions. Does that go both ways?”

“Hm. No, I think not. Mental manipulation, for better or worse, was used by both sith and jedi on those who could not use the Force. I believe that your Force bond with this little one is one sided in terms of sending thoughts or feelings.”

“I can respond,” Din says. He picks up the kid and settles him in his lap. This seems to be acceptable and his mental grip relaxes a little further. “I can’t reach out to him, but when he wants to… to be in my mind, it seems like he hears my thoughts. It seems like it works.”

Maz seems to consider. “True, you cannot send anything to his mind like he can to you. You can be open to him, though. That is how you communicate. And you should be receptive to him, for it is no doubt comforting to such a young one to have a connection as intimate as a Force bond with their caretaker. He is unable to survive on his own, and to have this will help in his growth.”

Din swallows. “I don’t want an open mind,” he says. “The kid -- talking to the kid, sure, that’s one thing. It’s fine, he doesn’t speak anyway. But… when he shares his emotion? When he’s upset, or scared? I can’t do that. I can’t. It’s too much. And I don’t want anyone  _ else  _ being able to do that to me.”

Maz nods. “Of course,” she says. “You may not use the Force, but your mind can still be strengthened. The child will learn to create his shields, and I will show you methods for strengthening as well.”

“Will I be able to… stop him?” Din asks. “I don’t want him there all the time. He only forces in when he’s upset -- earlier, coming here, it actually felt like… he wanted my permission. He was calm. I just want to be able to say no and actually keep him out.”

“You need privacy,” she says, nodding. “I understand. It is important, as well, that you learn to manage this bond in a way that is safe for both of you. If he does as he pleases, he will wear you down. Even if he doesn’t, there could be a chance that he becomes reliant in an unhealthy way. Every relationship,  _ especially  _ a Force relationship, must have boundaries to protect both parties.” She looks down at the kid.

“He may not appreciate you learning to say no and standing firm. But every child hates the word ‘no’. Soon, you will learn to manage it. Perhaps it may turn into the most enriching aspect of your relationship.”

Din looks down at the child, who is leaning back against Din’s abdomen, staring up at his father. He looks back.  _ Hm. _

“How do we start?” he asks, his voice coming out as a rasp.

Maz smiles. “I will set mats for us to sit, and we will require silence for focus. Mandalorian, you will be free to return upstairs and purchase any food or drink you desire. Two untrained minds will need no distractions.”

Paz watches Maz turn away, walking to pick up something on the other side of the hall, and then he looks at Din.

“It’s okay,” Din says. “She’s trustworthy. We’ll be fine.”

“Hm.” Paz stands. He doesn’t seem very trusting, but he begins to stand and walk in the direction from which they’d arrived. He passes Dyn’s chair, then stops, and looks down at him and the kid.

“We’re going to talk about you two and this  _ Force bond,”  _ he says. “And the fact that you decided not to mention it.”

Din can’t think of a justified response. So he just shifts in his chair and watches him go.

When Maz has placed the mats and beckons them over, he stands.

An hour later, he’s soaked with sweat and digging his fingers into the stone floor. “Stop!” he gasps, his voice broken and pleading. “Stop. Please. I can’t do this.”

Maz’s presence draws back from his mind, leaving his shields shattered and his body shaking with the mental effort of defending against her press. It’s the third time his shields have gone up and been promptly broken. He just can’t keep her out. He gasps and struggles against the feeling of her breaking through and brushing against his thoughts, his memories.

“You are getting better,” she says, sounding entirely unfazed by her efforts. “Each wall is stronger than the last. Your tenacity is what will defend your mind when the Force does not come so easy.”

Din pants for breath. Beside him, the kid looks sleepy. “I’ll bet the  _ baby  _ is doing better than me,” he hisses, his mood run foul.

“It is coming more naturally to him than you,” Maz says. “He may be learning faster than you are, but this is something that only needs guidance. You need instruction. Mental shields are difficult to construct, to maintain, and to keep against attack.”

“I just need to keep  _ him  _ out of my mind when I don’t want him there,” he says. “Isn’t there a way beyond the shields?”

“You want your mind open to anyone who decides to poke around it in it?” Maz asks.

“... No,” he says. “Absolutely not.”

“Then pick yourself up and construct them again.”

“How much  _ can  _ I learn?” Din asks. “I can’t use the Force like him. At what point am I just kidding myself?”

Maz sighs, and he knows he’s testing her patience. Her voice is surprisingly gentle anyway. “You will not be able to do even a quarter of what he can,” she says. “Even for a Force-sensitive, he is astounding in his ability. You, on the other hand, are as normal as anyone else when it comes to this. There are few jedi left in the world. These shields are not a full defense, but a deterrent. You would not be able to withstand the siege of any determined jedi. But the presence of shields may make them think twice about testing you. Your objective is to protect your thoughts and memories as much as possible.”

Din sighs.

“Construct them again,” she orders. “Will your mind to quiet, to settle, and for your shields to rise in protection. Envision them to be as strong as your beskar.”

He lets his eyes fall shut and takes a deep breath. Like the times before, he follows her words, and settles his mind behind a shield.  _ Strong as beskar. Strong as beskar. Strong as-- _

A presence begins probing at the shield, and Din sucks in a breath, trying to keep his concentration. He can’t reach out, only retreat within, and against a force that tries to reach into his mind, retreating feels like the best option. But instead, he pictures a sturdy wall of beskar and his own thoughts behind it. His breath is shaky, sweat clinging to his skin.

The presence pushes. His shields don’t give, not like the first attempt. There’s no give after another push, or another, and he grips his hands into fists, his lungs feeling tight.  _ Don’t release. Don’t falter. Dig in your heels, there is no entry. _

His shields begin to crack. It’s like he can see the line beginning in the beskar, the weakness spreading across his shield like poison, and if he endures much more the walls will come crashing down. He gasps, hands shaking, eyes squeezed shut.  _ Stop. Stop. No. You can’t. _

There’s a final push, and the shield has nearly cracked, but it stops. Din sucks in a breath, shaking badly, and waits for the last blow to hammer down on him. There’s no way an enemy can feel how weak his defenses are and not go in for the kill. Maz is just testing him, she has to be, and will shatter his pitiful shield once again in just a moment.

But no, it doesn’t come.

Instead, crying begins next to him.

Din jerks in surprise, his concentration breaking and his shield shattering into mental pieces. He looks down at the kid, who’s climbing to his feet, and takes a few steps to put his hands on Din’s thigh.  _ “Buir!”  _ he wails.  _ “Buir!” _

Din stares at him for a moment, his stomach twisting and turning, then he grabs the kid and brings him against his chest in a cradle. He looks up at Maz, who watches them with both a slight smile. His heart is heavy and his voice is a rasp.

“Was it--” he swallows. “That was… him?”

“That was him,” Maz says. “He was getting restless as I worked with you. And your concern was keeping him out.”

He feels like his lungs have been twisted around as the kid cries into his arm,  _ “buir”  _ being gasped out between sobs. It feels as though his heart is being ripped out to cause the child any more pain than he already has. “That was him,” he whispers. “... Oh.”

“Calm your emotions, Mandalorian,” she says, her voice firm although it isn’t cold. “You have not hurt him. He wanted to enter and you said no. He is reacting to denial the same way most children do.”

“I’ve made him cry too many times,” Din mutters under his breath.

“You are his parent. You will continue to make him cry for years. It is the trouble of raising a child.” She has to raise her voice over the wails.

“I thought he was you. I thought my shields were going to break. Why didn’t he smash through if he wanted to enter so bad?” Din begins to rock the child.

“He very well could have,” Maz says. “Actually, I’m rather surprised he didn’t. But perhaps he would if you had been anyone else.”

Din looks at her.

“You are his father,” she says. “Not a stranger whose mind he wishes to enter and manipulate. You are of extreme significance, physically and emotionally. For someone else to say no--then yes, he will just smash through. But  _ you  _ said no and meant it. You kept him out long enough for him to realize you were serious. He stopped.”

He looks down at the kid. He’s  _ exhausted.  _ Maz has been working with both of them, on and off, so both get a break, but the kid has been holding up better than him. Din finds that learning to guard against the mind probing is more tiring than any training course he’s ever run. When he returns to the  _ Razor Crest,  _ he’s going to sleep better than he has in weeks.

“I’ll give you space to calm him down,” Maz says, standing. “I will check on things upstairs and on your companion. We can resume later.”

“Thank you,” Din says.

Maz nods and turns, walking off. When she disappears, her footsteps gone with her, it leaves the two of them alone. The kid is beginning to calm down, and Din settles him down on his leg. “Hey,” he murmurs. “Hey. Hey.  _ Ad’ika.  _ Look at me, buddy, look.”

He reaches with one hand and slides his helmet off, confident that he’ll hear anyone approaching in the echoing corridors. He sets it down beside his leg and places both hands on the kid, his thumbs beginning to rub circles on his back as the whimpers start to subside.

_ “Buir,”  _ the kid gasps, ears drooped.

“I’m right here.” Din gives the kid a gentle squeeze. “I’m right here,  _ ad’ika.  _ Shh, it’s okay…”

The soft whimpers continue. Then, ever so gently, the kid’s presence begins to push at him. Din takes a shaky breath -- then, brings his shield up, eyes squeezing shut in concentration.  _ Strong as beskar.  _ He places the wall between them.

The kid pushes against the barrier. Then, he pulls back, and instead begins to whine again, threatening to begin his cries anew.

Din lets the shield drop. Then, it takes a few seconds before the kid realizes the shield is down and  _ floods  _ him. Relief and misery and joy and rejection all hit his senses. It’s an avalanche that he isn’t ready for, but now, he takes it all with a sense of understanding. It doesn’t strike him with cold fear, knowing how powerless he is. He has shielding. He  _ can  _ say no, even if it sends the kid into a fit. He sucks in a breath and pulls the kid closer.

_ I love you,  _ he thinks. He swallows.  _ I love you. I don’t understand this and I don’t understand you but I know I love you. You are a Mandalorian. You are my son. _

The feelings being sent begin to change. Worry and misery begin morphing, flashing through several changes so quickly that he can’t process what they are. Then, it begins to settle, and Din is hit with a wave of new emotions.  _ Love. Warmth. Acceptance. Adoration. _

_ I love you, too,  _ it seems to say.  _ I am yours and you are mine.  _

He feels warmth spread through him, the sensation of love and affection so alien to him that it’s almost too much to feel it so completely. But instead, he lets himself melt into it. The  _ ad’ika’s  _ presence wraps around his mind, a blanket of affection, chasing away any bad thoughts or feelings. He holds the kid tight against his chest, then drops his head and very lightly, bumps his forehead against the child’s, and stays there.

_ “Buir,”  _ the kid mumbles, two hands reaching up to plant against Din’s face.  _ “Buir.” _

_ “Ad’ika.” _

He doesn’t know how long they sit there; it could be minutes or hours, he isn’t sure. For a long time, they simply are there, together, holding on. He takes a deep breath. The kid coos. Somehow, this  _ bond  _ has become… less terrifying. More comforting. He’s never felt this close with another being before. It’s becoming difficult to tell where the kid ends and Din begins.

Then, the kid begins to squirm.

Din lets him go. He leans back instead and watches as the kid climbs down and out of his lap. He begins toddling towards Din’s outstretched legs, stopping beside his knee. He reaches out and places a hand on Din’s brace.

“What are you doing?” he murmurs.

The kid looks at him, then back to his knee. He places two hands on either side of it, then closes his eyes.

Then, something flows into his knee, splashing in waves.

It’s akin to vibration, but… not. Din sucks in a breath, the sensation seeming to touch muscles and tendons and bone, seeping through every cell of his knee and flowing like water. He leans back, closing his eyes, feeling the pain and stiffness of the joint melt away.  _ What is this?  _ he thinks.

Then, the kid removes his hands and promptly sits himself down, eyes sleepy.

Din opens his eyes to stare at the joint, then the kid, and slowly he leans forward. He reaches for the clasps holding the brace together and begins pulling each one open, the durasteel giving to release. He brings his knee in, staring at it as he folds his leg in.

The joint cracks, but there is no pain.

He gets up fast, expecting pain to creep back in, but there is nothing. He can lean his weight on it. It feels a little shaky, but it’s a rescinding feeling. He shifts his weight, then walks a few steps.

He whirls around and looks at the kid. “How long have you been able to do that?” he says. “How long have you been able to heal?”

The kid stares back at him and coos.

Then, images. They flash across his mind, almost like they’re playing on his visor, and it takes him a moment to center himself in the image and realize what he’s seeing.

_ Climbing out of the pram as the sun sets in the desert. The Mandalorian is cauterizing his wounds. Reaching, reaching, reaching, trying over and over, trying to help, to heal the man who has saved him from the darkness.  _

It switches again, disorienting.

_ His caretaker is back, finally, back from the dead, back in reach. He’s still here, not gone again, but he’s hurt, grabbing at his knee. This time, he can help, help the one who left him but returned. _

“This is… you?” he gasps.

_ His  _ ba’vodu  _ entered, and he was happy at first to have them both with him, but things became very frightening very fast. Now, he tries again to heal, to fix, because his  _ buir  _ is feeling bad things and he knows he can help. _

_ Again, not long later, he tries. But again, his  _ buir  _ just pulls him away, so angry that the he’s afraid to enter his mind to calm him. _

Din swallows.  _ Oh.  _ His muscles shaky, he holds his hands out to the kid, lowering himself to one knee. He steadies himself. “Come here,” he says.

The kid coos and begins toddling towards him, ears drooped, and Din doesn’t hesitate to scoop him up as soon as he’s in reach. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I didn’t… You helped. You helped me. I’m sorry for not paying attention.”

The kid only yawns into his beskar. He fidgets a little before settling against his shoulder, falling quiet. The presence around Din’s mind settles down, feeling as tired as the kid must be.  _ He’s had a day.  _ Din reaches down and grabs his helmet, slipping it on. He should get Paz and go back to the  _ Crest.  _ He glances towards the crutches.

“Any more secrets?”

Din startles, grabbing his blaster from his belt and turning towards the sudden voice. Paz’s hands come up, empty, and Din sucks in a breath before shoving the blaster back into its holster.

“I’m not keeping secrets,” he says.

Paz doesn’t move. “Apparently the kid has been in your  _ head  _ and you didn’t say anything.”

“It’s a new thing,” Din says. “I only just started feeling it yesterday. The kid just… gets in and makes me feel or think or see whatever he wants. Earlier, I… asked for help because he was freaked out and practically sinking claws into me.”

“You never  _ said  _ anything, Din,” Paz says, stepping closer. “You just spent over an hour learning to keep him out. What kind of damage could he do to you? Drive you insane if he wanted?”

“If I said anything, you would’ve thought I  _ was  _ insane,” Din says. “I didn’t understand what it was. Don’t get mad at me for not baring my soul to you.”

“This is something the clan needs to know about.”

“Or is it something  _ you  _ need to know about? You’re trying to be more involved than you need to be. He’s  _ my  _ kid, you know.”

Paz doesn’t respond.

“We’ll tell the clan when we get back,” Din says. “Apparently the kid can heal, too. We’re both tired, Paz, just let it go for now.”

The larger Mandalorian crosses his arms. He doesn’t seem at all happy with it. “Alright,” he says. “You can explain all of it when we’re back.”

“Thank you.”

Paz stares at him for a moment. “I don’t mean to be…” He pauses. “Too involved.”

“I know,” Din says. “I know.”

The next day, Maz sits with the child, intent on teaching him something--Din doesn’t quite understand, and she waves him off rather than explain it again.

Din has to be there. The kid can’t go without him. While they’ve slowly moved into a lack of physical contact, the kid has to be able to turn and see him without delay, or he begins to cry. Last night, he’d gotten up to stretch, and the kid had burst into tears upon finding him out of sight.

“How much do you have left to teach him?” Din asks as he sits on a mat, placing the child down beside his knee.

“There is much for him to learn that does not follow the jedi nor the sith. The greatest concern is mental control. For him to learn to use such power properly -- and for him to not destroy you through your bond.” Maz sits. “I will pass on as much knowledge as I can to him. If possible, I’d like you to bring him back periodically.”

“Periodically?”

“As he grows, so will his ability to understand. A little one like this can only learn so much. But when he is older, and his mind is sharper, I will be able to teach more. He will need someone to guide him towards control.”

“I… have a question,” he says.

“Mhm.”

“When I… when I first came here. You told me about the dark side, and how it’s ruled by fear. By pain and suffering.”

“I did.”

“Well, me leaving him behind for so long… I did it wrong. I left without telling him, and he was miserable for the weeks I was here.”

“I know of that,” she says. “He showed me.”

“He… oh.”

“What is your question?”

“I just caused him so much pain. When he gave me that feeling, it was… horrific. He was alone and afraid and… it was just so much fear and pain. I’m worried I may have…” he hesitates. “Started him down the wrong path already.”

Maz looks at him, then closes her eyes, her expression one of focus. Beside Din, the child coos, then falls quiet, and Din looks down to see his eyes have shut. Silence descends. Then, she speaks again.

“You did not teach him pain or fear,” she says. “He knew those emotions before. Caused him more? Yes. You have taught him what it feels like to be alone and abandoned by someone he trusted.”

Din’s breath hitches.

“But he knows now what it feels like to be found,” she says, and she opens her eyes to smile at the child, who gurgles. “To be chosen and loved and wanted. That is your doing, and that is what a child clings to. That is what you both must cling to. I see scars that will last, of course, but no. You have not sent him down the path of the dark side. A taste of it, perhaps, but every jedi has tasted it at one point or another.”

Din takes a deep breath, relief flooding him.

_ “Buir?”  _

He looks down at the kid, who has stood and placed a hand on his beskar, staring up at him. Din smiles at him, even if he can’t see it, and strokes his ear. “You need to focus,” he says.  _ “Buir  _ is fine. I’m fine. Sit down.”

It takes a moment before the kid listens, sitting down. Maz dips her head, eyes shut, and Din watches as seconds later, the kid copies it. He’s impressed at how the child can really focus, almost unable to be disturbed in this state.

He leans back and waits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando'a:  
> Ad'ika -- little one  
> Buir -- father  
> Ba'vodu -- uncle
> 
> Din is finally told what's going on in his head. And starting to learn how to control his end of the connection.
> 
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	7. The Accident

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He walks out the front way. In his hold, the kid starts to whimper and squirm, beginning with the soft cries that Din recognizes now as exhaustion. He’s just tired and unable to sleep, but the _Crest_ isn’t far. It’s only a few minutes of walking, and he’s sure the kid will be asleep before they even get there. Walking and bouncing seems to put him right down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of Mando'a used here between Paz and Din. Hopefully, the context provides a rough idea.
> 
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> We now have a Nurse Bot!  
> Send any prompts or requests over to my [ tumblr,](https://coffeequill.tumblr.com/) or just come scream at me about the Mandalorian!

They stay at Maz’s castle for four days. By the end, Din feels relief like he never has before, and this time it’s his own emotion.

After four days, this Force bond feels… like it’s something they can handle.

But they can’t stay longer. When Din and Paz venture up to the bar to get food, or pass through to get to the  _ Crest,  _ eyes follow. The rule is that they cannot start trouble, but it begins to feel as though their presence is going to start something soon.

Din shifts his gaze around, sees those who stare from afar with hungry eyes at him and the child, and wonders if any have tracking fobs. He doesn’t recognize anyone, but it’s not like he had many friends in the Guild. He knew a few names. He only talked to Karga and those who he had to meet and bypass in the field.

_ I wonder if any have three fobs,  _ he thinks,  _ and they’re all going off right now. _

So they spend most of their time below the bar, with the kid and away from other eyes.

Besides Maz breaking down his shields, which she  _ insists  _ he’s getting better at, he isn’t involved with any of the current training. Apparently, the kid is quite responsive and seems rather eager to learn, or perhaps he’s just excited about another Force user and one who isn’t going to take him from Din. Maz mentions it as a rather large fear in the little one’s mind, one that he’s shared with her.

“He’s afraid of leaving you,” she says. “That was likely why he held onto you so hard. He recognizes that you aren’t like him, and I sense his fear of those who are.”

_ I’m not like you at all, little one. _

The presence in his mind coos.

The four days pass by. They don’t drag, necessarily, but Paz is becoming antsy to do something more than sit and wait, and Din agrees. Neither want to wait until their presence attracts trouble. Best to take the kid home as soon as they can rather than chance it.

On the afternoon of the fourth day, they have prepared the ship and Paz waits aboard. The kid drifting off to sleep in his arms, Din approaches Maz.

“Thank you,” he says. “For everything. I can’t express my gratitude for you helping us.”

“He was a pleasure,” Maz says with a smile. “Set your boundaries with him, Mandalorian, and he will learn control. Safe travels.”

Din gives her a nod, then cradles the child in his arms and turns. He keeps the kid as covered as he can, trying to make him look more like a package than a being, so only those with tracking fobs might know the difference. He hasn’t heard any, but the anxiety of someone with a fob being here is too great.

He walks out the front way. In his hold, the kid starts to whimper and squirm, beginning with the soft cries that Din recognizes now as exhaustion. He’s just tired and unable to sleep, but the  _ Crest  _ isn’t far. It’s only a few minutes of walking, and he’s sure the kid will be asleep before they even get there. Walking and bouncing seems to put him right down.

Din is just relieved to be walking on his own again, and the crutches are finally stored away on the  _ Crest. _

As he leaves the front path of the castle, he diverts towards the trees. There’s a longer footpath towards where they’ve landed the  _ Crest,  _ but simply cutting through is faster, though more bothersome, and the foliage provides more cover if they were to be ambushed away from the safety of both castle and ship. The tall grass and bushes rustle against his legs as he steps through.

The kid continues to squirm. He doesn’t reach out mentally, so Din is sure he’s just  _ gedin’la.  _ “Shh,” he says. “You’re having a nap as soon as we get there, okay? Shh.”

Then, there’s a loud rustle, and his foot freezes mid-air. He glances down at the ground, then lowers his foot and reaches a hand down towards his holster. “Paz,” he murmurs, his comms line thrumming with his voice. “Is the ship open?”

_ “Yes. Why?” _

_ “Beroya.” _

He continues on, walking through the shrubs, and begins to take off the container. Swinging it around, he lowers the kid down into it. He’s met with a whine of protest and the kid reaches up towards him.

_ “Ramp’s down. Just get here.” _

“Stay,” Din says, firm and low, before he shuts the lid.

The rustling is louder, clearly twigs snapping beneath feet, and bounty hunter is more of a cautious guess. Any friend would likely have called out rather than stalk him like this. His eyes flicker towards the path, just in sight, following along it.

A whine comes from the box. A push at his own thoughts. The kid has learned, it seems, from both Din and Maz, that he cannot force his way in. He needs to be allowed, whether or not Din’s shields are raised. Din responds with a lesser shield—no true defense, just an answer.  _ No. Later.  _ The kid whines but doesn’t push more.

“Hey, Mando.”

Din stops. He turns and looks over his shoulder, then sucks in a breath. Four hunters are standing in a line just twenty paces behind him, blasters primed and aimed. Three are human, the fourth unidentifiable with a helmet.

“Fancy seeing you here,” one says, cocking his blaster.

Din adjusts the kid. “Got a fob on us?” he says.

“Nope,” he says. “Just luck, I guess. Don’t worry, everyone’s heard about the Mandalorian gone rogue. I’ll bet all my credits that you’re holding that coveted asset right now.”

_ No tracking fob. _

“It’s a child,” Din says.

“Hand it over and you can walk.”

“It’s a child,” he repeats. “Not a fugitive or runaway.”

“Maybe so.” The man cocks his head to the side. “But I heard  _ you  _ are. I wonder how much your bounty is.”

“Paz,” Din hisses, comms link icon flaring in his visor.  _ “Cuir. Tsikador.” _

_ “Tsikala,”  _ comes the response.  _ “K’oyacyi.” _

“You’re outnumbered, four to one, Mando. Hand the kid over and go, or we drag  _ both  _ of you in.”

Din’s hand slides down to his blaster, gripping it. “He is a Mandalorian,” he says, raising the blaster. “He’s mine.”

“I don’t care.”

Both sides fall silent. They’re in a standoff; neither side seems eager to shoot.

_ “Din,”  _ Paz’s voice rumbles.  _ “K’olar!” _

Din cocks his blaster and shoots.

He catches one in the shoulder. While the hunter stumbles back, the three others raise their blasters and shoot. Din ducks, then turns on his heel and takes off towards the ship, vaulting over a fallen tree. Blaster shots bury into the wood, smoke rising from it.

He sprints as fast as he can through bushes and grass and trees, the kid squeaking inside the carrier as he’s jostled around. He feels bad, but there is no option. Plasma bolts shoot past them.

“Coming in hot!” Din hisses, the  _ Crest  _ coming into view through the trees. “Paz!”

_ “I’m seeing it!” _

Din vaults over another log, then bursts into the clearing. The  _ Crest  _ is open and Paz stands on the ramp, his gun at the ready.

As Din reaches the foot of the ramp, the machine gun spins to life and he ducks his head as rapid fire is unleashed upon the hunters. One falls. Another screams and collapses. Two, though, spot the weapon and dive behind trees, crouched down as the shots splinter the wood and set it ablaze.

“There’s another!” a hunter shouts.

“Get in,” Paz says. “Get us in the air!”

Din sprints up the ramp and heads straight to the compartment, placing the container down on its back so the kid can crawl out. He heads to the ladder and grabs a rung.

“Shit!”

Din looks over to see Paz recoil from a shot, his gun lowering as he gives his arm a rough shake. With the rounds gone, the hunters fire back a storm of shots.

_ Damn it.  _ Din releases the ladder and grabs his rifle off his back. He comes to the line where the ramp begins and aims, finds a hunter through the scope, and pulls the trigger.

The hunter moves. The charge buries itself in the tree behind it.  _ “Haar’chak!”  _ he swears, then reaches down and grabs another off his boot. “Are you okay?”

“It’s nothing,” Paz grunts, and Din believes him, because he hefts the gun up again and begins another onslaught of blasts. He reloads his rifle and aims again. He takes a deep breath and focuses.

Something pushes against his mind. It feels scared. Din pauses, lowering the rifle, then brings up a shield.  _ No. No.  _ He lifts the rifle again.

It pushes again.  _ Stop it,  _ he snaps, rough.  _ No.  _ He needs to focus the crosshairs. The hunter raises his blaster and aims at Din. His finger closes around the trigger.

Din has him beat, though, and he moves to squeeze his own trigger.

Then, the shield shatters, and a presence forces itself deep into his mind. His body freezes, hands tightening, he squeezes the trigger but it hits the ground instead. He shuts his eyes tight.  _ Kriffing—what the— _

The blaster bolt buries itself at the junction of his shoulder and torso. Choking, he finds himself falling, slipping down the ramp. He stares up at the sky.

_ “Din!”  _ Paz yells, “bastards!” 

But Din’s senses are going in and out, overwhelmed by the terrified presence clinging to his mind and the pain lancing through his body.  _ Fear. Terror. Horror. Scared. Worried. Nervous.  _ These aren’t his own thoughts. He’s been shot before. As he hears a scream, he turns his head. He doesn’t know who it is.

His eyes close for a few seconds. Then, they open.

Something is on top of him, blocking out the sun. It takes him a moment to realize that it’s Paz, standing over him, one foot planted on either side of Din’s sprawled-out body. The sky is bright blue behind him.  _ Am I still concussed? _

The kid is glued to his brain. Weakly, he tries to push him out, but it’s simply too much. Din lets out a groan.

Finally, the muted sounds of the machine gun stop, and Paz lowers it, shoulders heaving. He swings it around and hooks it on his back, then looks down at Din.  _ “Oyayc ra karyayc?” _

_ “Oyayc,”  _ Din whispers, strained.

Paz steps out of sight. Then, arms slip beneath his shoulders, looping around, and he’s lifted off the ground. His boots still drag as Paz pulls him towards the ship. They move up the ramp and into the  _ Crest.  _ Once they’re in the cargo hold, he’s lowered, and the position changes to the side. Paz’s arms slip around his back and behind his knees, lifting him into the air with a grunt; Paz’s left arm trembles a little, but he walks to the cot. He’s gentle in laying Din down.

Din lets out a shaky breath.

Paz disappears. He hears the ramp close up, the cargo door closes. Paz reappears. “Let me see.”

Din doesn’t move, but doesn’t protest when large hands begin touching at his shoulder. He winces when they’re too close to the wound. Paz pulls back. “Lift it.”

Din tries. He manages to move it up a few inches, then hisses and drops it again.

“It got you in the muscle. You’ll be fine. Keep inhibitors in here?”

“Kitchen. Drawer. Bottom.”

Paz nods and disappears.

Din groans and grips the edge of the cot. The presence in his mind has gone quiet, silent, almost solemn. He winces as the hole in his shoulder throbs.

_ “Buir.” _

He looks. The child is coming towards him, slow, each step small and careful, and his expression is sad. Nervous. Those same emotions he forced Din to feel are on his face. Din stares at him. The presence shifts.

_ Get out. _

In an instant, the presence is gone, and he’s alone in his own head again.

_ “Buir,”  _ the kid whimpers. He toddles closer, holding his arms out.

“I can’t,” Din snaps, and his voice cracks. “I can’t, okay? I can’t lift you. I’m hurt.”  _ I’m hurt because you didn’t listen. _

The kid frowns. He comes closer still, reaching a hand out, straining towards him.  _ Help. _

“Stop.  _ Stop,”  _ he growls, “I don’t want it.”

That makes the child pause, and he stares at Din, tears beginning to well in his eyes.

“Alright,” comes Paz’s voice quickly, and the Mandalorian steps into view as he scoops up the kid. “Found them.”

He hands the pain inhibitors over. Din takes them. As Paz turns away, Din swallows and calls out.

“Thank you,” he says.

Paz glances back, adjusting the kid. “For what?”

“For… for coming.” He swallows, his own emotions like a war between anger and gratitude. “I’m out of whistling birds. They could’ve had me.”

“I wasn’t going to leave you to be captured.”

“You could have. You had the kid. No one would have known.”

“Hm. They would have been disappointed to get the wrong one. My bounty is higher than yours.”

Din stares at him, then lets out a quiet chuckle. “Oh.”

“Din. Really. Don’t act like me saving you was odd.”

“I’m just… glad you did.”

Paz looks at him, the sniffling kid held on his knee. Then he reaches out and grabs Din, his hand seizing his forearm. Din looks at him, then mirrors the gesture, both holding onto the other.

_ “Oya manda,”  _ he says.

Din swallows.  _ “Oya manda,”  _ he says.

Paz disappears into the cockpit, the kid in his arms, and what follows is a strange… quiet. He can hear the kid fussing, but he doesn’t try to escape to the cargo hold and doesn’t sound like he’s really trying to. There are no whimpering noises of being caught and taken back.

He’s just so, so tired of being hurt, and tired of his mind being at the control of a toddler.

Din sleeps for a good amount of the trip home, and that’s a relief. Paz only wakes him after they’ve touched down, and the kid is in his arms, both looking down.

Din blinks the sleep away before he sits up. The kid is curled up beside Paz’s helmet, and he looks down at Din and makes a soft whimper before turning away, hiding his face.

Paz looks at the kid and makes a hum. “I think someone wants to apologize,” he says. “If his  _ buir  _ is willing to listen?”

Din looks up. His anger over what happened still burns, but it’s a low simmer now, and the kid finally looks at him again with teary eyes and a soft  _ “buir?”  _ Din sucks in a breath and brings his legs around to the side, sitting up, and pushes to stand.

“Come here,” he says.

He reaches for the kid and the kid reaches back, a loud whine escaping, and Paz hands him over. Din takes him and draws him to his chest, and little hands scrabble for purchase on his cowl. Claws sink into the fabric, gripping.

“You can’t do that to me,” he says, running his thumb over the child’s back. “You can’t. I told you no, so it’s no.”

The kid sniffles. Din isn’t sure how much he understands, but that’s something they’ll have to work on. The important thing now is getting home, getting to the safety of the covert, before they can have another run-in with a hunter. 

As Paz steps away to lower the hatch, Din walks to the compartment and grabs the carrier. The kid pouts; he doesn’t seem a fan of the method of transportation, but it’s not like he gets a say when it comes to safety. His ears droop as Din settles him into it. “It’s not supposed to be fun,” he says, and the kid lets out a sad coo.

The lid is shut, and the container is slid onto his back, hidden beneath the cape.

Paz and Din walk off the ship side by side, and the ramp closes behind them. His shoulder aches, and he lets his arm hang, wincing when the strap brushes against it.

They make their way through the streets. The stares are ignored, a path made for them. They continue on, up the main street, and at one point, they glance at each other and nod.

They split. Din takes one path and Paz takes another.

This time, Din walks with pain, but it is much more manageable.

They reach the covert’s hidden door within seconds of each other, and both glance over their shoulder to check for followers.  _ “Utrel’a,”  _ Din says, and Paz nods.

They pull back the curtain and enter the covert. It’s quiet but for muffled conversations; no one is loud within the safety of their walls. They don’t announce their presence. They walk forward, through the corridor, and towards the sound of hammering.

The Armorer is alone at her forge. At first, she does not react to their presence. Din and Paz walk to a bench and sit, waiting, and Din brings the carrier into his lap. The child pushes at the lid, gently, and when it is not pushed down, he lifts it to peek out in interest. Din pulls the cover back and runs his finger over an ear.

The hammering stops. “You’ve returned,” the matriarch says. “Successful, I presume?”

“Very,” Din says. “We found the teacher with no issues. She taught the child to control the mental side of his abilities. She recommended that he return periodically, when he is capable of learning more.”

Footsteps approach from behind. Din feels the presence of Mandalorians in the doorway, watching them.

“That is good.” The Armorer lifts the metal from the forge, setting it aside. “What of you both?”

“What about us?” Din asks.

“Have you discussed the conflict between you?”

Din glances at Paz, who looks back.

“We have,” he says.

“You’ve come to an understanding, I hope.”

Din pauses. “An understanding, yes.”

They slip into silence. The kid fidgets.

“Din,” Paz says. He gives him a soft elbow. “Tell her.”

Din hesitates. The Armorer stops to look at him, her gaze piercing through him.

“The kid formed a bond with me,” he finally says.

There’s a pause. “You are his father,” she says, as though it was obvious.

“No. Not just that. It’s called a… Force bond. Maz Kanata explained it as a connection of minds. The jedi used it to communicate with their students during the Old Republic. I can feel him enter my mind, and--he’s had me feel his emotions. He conveys thoughts. He’s shown me his memories as if they were my own. She says he’s incredibly powerful in the Force, more than she expected.”

The Armorer stares at him. “A mental link?” she says, and there’s murmuring from the Mandalorians behind them.

Din nods. “He did it for the first time when I returned,” he says. “It was… overwhelming. I was shown how to create shields to keep him out, to protect my thoughts, but he’s still capable of pushing through anyway.” His shoulder throbs as though in affirmation.

She is quiet for a moment. Then, she speaks. “So much power in a little thing,” she says. “Capable of many things.”

Din nods. He looks down at the kid, who looks back up at him. Din draws the carrier against his chest.

“We will not deal with it now,” the Armorer says. “You’ve returned in one piece. Refresh yourselves and settle. Then, we will address these changes.”

The words ring like a decree. Din and Paz stand from the bench and walk towards the doorway.

The Mandalorians move, giving them a very, very wide berth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando'a:  
> Gedin'la -- upset, moody, cranky  
> Beroya -- bounty hunter  
> Cuir -- four  
> Tsikador -- ready, prepare  
> Tsikala -- ready, prepared (used as an affirmation)  
> K'oyacyi -- here, means "hang in there", "come back safely", and literally is the command "stay alive!"  
> K'olar -- come to me! get over here at once!  
> Haar'chak -- damn it!  
> Oyayc ra karyayc? -- dead or alive?  
> Oyayc -- alive  
> Oya manda -- expression of Mando solidarity. Used with emotion.  
> Utrel'a -- all clear
> 
> Come join the covert on [ discord.](https://discord.gg/UwZuG6N)  
> We now have a Nurse Bot!  
> Send any prompts or requests over to my [ tumblr,](https://coffeequill.tumblr.com/) or just come scream at me about the Mandalorian!


	8. The Innocent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He turns to face the Armorer. “The kid is one of us,” he says, raising his voice to cut through the chatter, and it dies down around him. “You accepted him. You did not hold his powers against him. Since when do Mandalorians abandon their own?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Din and the kid face the covert after learning about the bond.

Din feels relief to finally be showered. The sweat and grime comes off under the spray of water, disappearing from his skin after days of being caked on, and he scrubs the oils from his hair and face. His shoulder aches, but the salve smeared on is doing its work to ease the pain. The sonic shower of his ship is better for time and resources, but if he has the time, water-based showers are more pleasant.

Water doesn’t have to be conserved on this planet. He’s relieved.

Outside the ‘fresher, the kid is playing with his fish, cooing and giggling and mumbling to himself as he does as he pleases. He’s freshly bathed and dressed in his sweater after a wrestling match of a shower for him. Din had lowered the water pressure so it wouldn’t feel like needles and more like rain, and the little tike had wanted to play in it more than wash. Finally, though, and with Din soaked through his own clothes, they’d managed.

It’d been another challenge to keep the kid from wandering into the shower with him—and Din had to snatch a towel to grab him, so as to not wet his dry sweater, and place him down outside the locked door. Luckily, the sad whimpers had only lasted a few seconds.

Din grabs a towel, begins to dry off, and soon is dressing in clean clothes. He towels his hair dry and smooths it back from his face. When it’s dry enough, he walks over to the kid and sits on the floor, the kid standing between his legs. “Hey,” he says, reaching out to stroke ears that are still wet. “What’re you doing there?”

The kid turns to look at him, then holds up his fish, like he’s presenting a prize.  _ “G… Gi!”  _ he squeaks.  _ “Gi! Gi, buir!” _

Din stares at him, then reaches out and takes the toy gently. “That’s right,” he murmurs. “This is a  _ gi.  _ Who taught you that?”

The kid stares at him and his ears twitch up.

_ “Gi,”  _ Din says.  _ “Ba’vodu?” _

_ “Ba’vodu!”  _ the kid squeaks, then looks over his shoulder at the door, as though expecting Paz to walk through.

“He taught you that word?” Din says, tapping his shoulder. “Hey.  _ Ba’vodu  _ taught you  _ gi?  _ About your fish?”

The kid stares at him, then smiles.

“Here’s a word. Easy.” Din puts a hand on the kid’s back, draws him closer to keep his focus.  _ “Oya.  _ Let’s hunt. Or  _ hoorah.  _ Okay? Mandalorians like that word, so you should know it. It’s a cheer.”

The kid stares up at him. “Oyy…”

_ “Oya.” _

_ “Oya!” _

Din smiles. “Good,” he says. “Really good. You should say that to  _ ba’vodu.  _ He’d love it.”

The kid coos and shoves the fish in his mouth.

A knocking at the door draws his attention. He stands and walks over, grabbing his helmet, and slides it on. “Come in,” he says.

The door opens and Paz stands there, leaning against the doorway. “Come on,” he says. “Get dressed.”

_ “Ba’vodu!”  _ the kid shrieks.

Din frowns. He turns to his armor and begins dressing, strapping on each piece. Soon, he turns and walks to the kid, scooping him up into his arms, then walks to the door.

“Is this going to be good or bad?” he asks.

“I don’t know,” Paz says, and he sounds honest.

Together, they walk out and into the hallway. It’s quiet and most rooms are empty. Paz leads them down and towards the forge, and they turn to face a room full of Mandalorians. Most of the covert is gathered, sectioned by families, and the forge has been turned off for the time being. The Armorer stands before it, and everyone turns to look as they approach.

Din takes a deep breath, arms tightening around the kid as they walk forward and into the middle of the grouping.

“Djarin,” the Armorer says in greeting. “Vizla.”

“Matriarch,” they say.

“Some have heard of the recent events. Please repeat them for all to hear.”

Din nods, and finds himself repeating most of the story he’d told her upon their return. “We went to Takodana and landed without issue,” he says.

He talks about Maz Kanata and the lessons. That the child was gifted in the Force, had extraordinary capabilities, and was eager to learn. He talks about the decision to leave before too many heard of the Mandalorians staying at the castle. He mentions the hunters that gave him his injury. Then, he delves into the worrying topic—the Force bond.

How the child had wormed his way into his mind, and forced him to feel as he pleased. The visions he’d been made to bear. The overwhelming amount of control a toddler had taken. That it was the forced entry into his mind that caught him to lose focus in battle and be hurt.

Even while Din knows the Force bond can be controlled, tempered, the Mandalorians don’t think of this. They press close together and whisper amongst themselves. Many have looked at the child and seen only a foundling, told themselves  _ he was a foundling.  _ Not an enemy. Not a sorcerer.

But things have changed.

“He’s a child,” Din says quickly, feeling the tension. “He must learn control. I can help him with it. He is impulsive and young, not hostile.”

Silence falls. His heart is beating in his chest. The kid looks up at him, eyes wide, and then his presence gently pokes at Din’s mind. Din looks down and gives him a squeeze.  _ Yes,  _ he thinks.

The presence enters his mind, gentle and reassuring.

“How can we be sure?” someone asks. “The jedi were enemies! He’s of their kind.”

“He’s a child,” Paz snaps. “He’s a  _ foundling.” _

“This power was used to murder thousands of  _ Mando’ade  _ at the hands of the  _ jetii!” _

Din turns on his heel to face Ravani, who’s standing above the others. “He’s a  _ baby.  _ The covert already accepted him,” he snarls.

“You want to wait until he uses those powers against our foundlings?” Ravani responds with as much vitriol.

“He  _ is  _ a foundling, too, and he’s been playing with them for weeks without an incident!”

“He was with  _ you  _ for even longer. Then he gets you and Vizla nearly killed with this  _ Force bond.”  _ Ravani looks at the Armorer. “It was never a good idea to house a child of an enemy race. Never. Now we have  _ three  _ with bounties on their heads and the Empire is after one of them!”

“Then why were we brought here?” Din says, anger flaring in his chest, and the presence shies away. He steps closer. “You’d sacrifice a foundling for your  _ comfort?” _

“Enemies,” Ravani snarls, stepping closer as well, “aren’t  _ foundlings.” _

They’re nearly chest to chest. Ravani isn’t as bulked as Paz, but in terms of size, he still makes Din look small. Din tightens his jaw, their eyes locked through the helmets, unyielding. He hasn’t felt small in years. He won’t start now.

“You’d sacrifice the covert for a child you  _ hunted.” _

“I’d protect my son.”

_ “Nibral.  _ You traded him to the Empire for the  _ beskar’gam  _ you  _ still wear.” _

“You don’t know what you’re talking about!”

_ “Ni’duraa!” _

Din pulls his vibroblade. So does Ravani. The child whimpers in his arms, claws digging into Din’s suit. They stare at each other. Paz’s voice is soft, “Din.”

_ “Dar’manda.” _

Din’s vision goes red, fury boiling over, and he jerks his arm to bring the knife up.  _ Soulless. Lost heritage. Lost identity. Not Mandalorian.  _ He brings the knife to Ravani’s throat, taking a seat for his anger to lead--

Only his arm never moves, not even an inch, and the presence is curling around his mind, desperate and pleading and frightened.  _ No,  _ it begs.  _ No. Don’t do it. Don’t don’t don’t don’t don’t don’t. _

Din’s eyes are wide. He breathes heavily, then slowly releases the knife, placing it back on his belt. His blood begins to cool. He brings his arms up to adjust the child instead. Ravani stares at him, then begins to do the same.

“You’re not worth it,” Din says, and the child coos.

“What’s going to stop a child with this power from destroying us?” another asks as Ravani sits, and Din looks at Ceejas, who is holding onto his wife. “If these powers are greater than we first thought, what protection do we have? Against the Force, against a mental attack?”

“He is attached to  _ Din,”  _ Paz says. “It is Din he wants to interact with. Not one of us. You’re thinking yourselves far more important to him than you are.”

There’s a mix of arguing. The kid buries his face in Din’s cuirass, ears folded against the noise. After a moment, he peers up at Din, eyes big and nervous.

“This isn’t something that Djarin  _ or  _ the kid can control!” someone snaps.

“There’s someone who can train him—“

“How can we trust this person? Another  _ jetii  _ is training him? Next thing we know, the kid is trying to wipe us all out, whether he knows it or not!”

“You’re just being paranoid!”

“Paranoia is what keeps us  _ alive.” _

_ It’s okay,  _ Din thinks to the kid.  _ It’s okay. Nothing to be scared of.  _ Even if his feelings say otherwise.

The room is split. One half of the covert stands against the other, and Paz and Ravani look ready to brawl it out with each other. Din just secures his hold on the child, feeling unease

He turns to face the Armorer. “The kid is one of us,” he says, raising his voice to cut through the chatter, and it dies down around him. “You accepted him. You did not hold his powers against him. Since when do Mandalorians abandon their own?”

The Armorer looks back at him. For moments that stretch long, she is quiet, and the room settles, waiting. Din’s heart pounds. She is their  _ alor,  _ their matriarch, their leader, and all they have after the siege of Mandalore. She is their forger, their armorer, their guide. Her word is law among the covert.

If she demands he stay in the covert, he will. If she commands the child to leave, he will. Only, Din will disobey the first. He knows he will. He will not separate from the child again. He isn’t sure it’s possible.

“The child’s abilities are worrisome,” she finally says. “Influencing minds is nothing to be made light of. In short time, he’s shown strength that we could not defend against.”

Din swallows. The kid squeaks and squirms when Din’s arms tighten a little too much, and he forces himself to release.

“But to be rid of him is not the way forward. Not when it could mean he falls into the hands of the Empire and led down a dark path.” Her helmet tilts down to look at the child, whose attention has turned towards Paz. “Foundlings are the future. To be found is to be saved. You have taken the oath of fatherhood, Din Djarin, and the clan has accepted your foundling. We will not go back on this.”

Finally, he can breathe. “Thank you,” he whispers.

The kid is reaching for Paz, eyes half-shut in concentration, leaning out of Din’s arms. When he can’t, he leans back, then looks at Din.

_ “OYA!”  _ he shrieks.

Din looks down and can’t help but smile. The outburst earns laughter from some Mandalorians.

_ “Oya!”  _ they call back.

Din watches the foundlings as he cleans his blaster. It’s only Ari, Jaylen, and J’ian who play with the kid this time, smiling as they toss toys into the air for the kid to catch with the Force. They giggle and laugh, clapping when he catches it. Every few moments, the child looks towards Din, as if checking to be sure he’s still really there.

The kid’s presence in his mind is dormant, calm, simply being rather than interacting. No panic, no clinging, just there. Din finds it relaxing, in a way, to know the kid is doing fine. It’s reassuring that he can handle being away from Din, even if he needs to be in sight. It’s not incredibly important; he doesn’t plan on disappearing any time soon.

Ravani’s biting words run through his mind and he tightens his jaw. The kid looks over, his ears low, and misses the tossed fish. Din holds back the thought and nods; the kid relaxes, turning away.

_ It’s not worth it. He’s not worth it. The kid was in your arms, anyway, how’d you expect to win? _

He wouldn’t have.

The kid twirls several of the toys at once, giving them each a toss, and the children giggle. The kid himself cracks a smile, then tosses all the toys into the air at once and lets them fall in a shower. The children laugh, delighted.

He’s the only adult in the room. The others have moved on to their own daily tasks. Most of the children are playing in another room, further down the hall, away from the child they once played with but now look at with fear. Din is sure the kid notices that most of his friends are missing. There’s a small slump to his shoulders. But the twins and J’ia took one look at the kid and rolled their eyes at the others, scooping him up to play.

Din is relieved.

He wouldn’t know how to explain to the kid that his friends are afraid of him.

He can’t step in with this issue, anyway. Foundling relationships are within the covert but separate, untouched; they’re trusted to work out their own issues, with words or with fists. Advice is given, but stepping in is frowned upon unless it’s necessary.

The kid looks over again. Din gives him a little wave of fingers. The kid looks away, levitating his fish into his arms and squeezing it.

Din wonders if he senses the changes, and knows that he scares the covert.

When night falls--or, underground, it’s when the child gets tired and fussy--Din carries him into their room and places him down in the crib. It’s much too big, sized to fit a human child, and Din is concerned that he’s able to slip through the bars too easily. So he grabs the blanket and lays it over the side, covering the slots.

He’s answered with a whimper. The kid strains to look over the crib and see him, his eyes just barely over the top, and his ears are drooping.  _ “Buir,”  _ he whines.

Din pauses, then steps back and leans against the crib, looking down at him. “I’m right here,” he murmurs. “It’s okay. I’m not going anywhere.”

_ “Buir. Buir.” _

He reaches in and strokes an ear, then his hand falls still. He reaches out with his mind, as best as he can, to press against the kid’s presence. The presence flares in response, flaring with warmth and love and happiness. Din smiles to himself, then reaches down and picks the kid up, walking to the bed. He sits, setting the child down across from him. “Okay,” he says, beginning to remove his bracers. “Practice.”

The kid blinks, cooing.

“Might help put you to sleep.” Din sets them aside, then works off his cuirass, unstrapping it. The armor is set aside as he takes it off. Then, he reaches into a pocket on his belt and takes out the metal ball from the ship. He places it down in front of the kid. “Lift that up.  _ Laam. _ Up.”

The kid stares at him, then down at the ball. He reaches a hand out and begins to levitate it without fanfare, raising it several inches into the air. Then, it drops, and he looks at Din.

“No. Hold it. Stay. Keep it there, okay?”

The kid looks quizzical, then lifts the ball again. Din nods, then holds his hand out to the right. “Here. Give it to me.”

The ball floats into his palm. Din smiles, earning a smile in return, then tosses the ball. It’s caught in the air. “Good, kid. Here.” He reaches up and lifts his helmet. He places it down between them. “Lift this. Actual weight.”

The kid looks at it, then lifts the helmet, floating it beside the ball. He looks at Din, as if to say  _ this is too easy. _

“There’s not a lot we can do that isn’t outside,” he says, “but this will have to work for now. Put the ball in it.”

They go on for a time, giving only small commands but asking for precision. He has nothing heavy for the child to lift, but he has the child follow his hand with the ball, following his exact movements. Up, down, fast, slow. Soon, the child’s eyelids become weighted. As strong as he is, the precision of the movements seems mentally tiring for a young child. 

Din smiles when the kid finally puts the ball down. He leans forward, holding his arms out.  _ “Buir,”  _ he says, blinking heavy.

“Good job,” Din murmurs, lifting the kid into his lap. “Bedtime, okay?”

He stands and walks to the crib, cradling the kid in his arms. But as soon as he leans down to place him on the mattress, the crib suddenly slides several feet away, its legs screeching against the floor. Din freezes, then stands straight, staring at the crib and then the kid.

“Okay,” he mutters. “Understood.”

They return to the bed. He gives the kid a soft caress, then pulls off his boots. The kid simply sits and waits, watching, and when Din lays down he’s quick to come closer.  _ “Buir,”  _ he mumbles, a small hand lifting to rub at a tired eye.

Din pulls him close to let him burrow against him, to curl up at his side as he had done on Takodana. But he squirms a bit instead, hands placed against Din’s ribcage, and tries to climb up with a strained expression. He lets out a determined noise.

“Here,” Din says, reaching for him.

But instead, the kid leans over, shoves both hands down, and  _ hops.  _ He goes much higher into the air than seemed possible, just enough to land on Din’s chest, and he drops to his hands to balance himself. Then, he stands, and coos at Din like it was nothing significant at all.

Din stares at him, letting out a breath, even when the kid’s weight is almost nothing. “... Okay,” he says. “That works, too.”

_ “Buir,”  _ the kid says, swinging his arms back and forth.

Din pauses, then sighs. “You want to sleep on me again.” He’s about to say  _ no, you’ve been doing fine without it,  _ but the kid leans down and grasps uselessly at the ties of Din’s front. Din stares at him, then lets out a grumble and reaches up, untying the laces. “Fine. Fine.”

The baby coos. He has a delighted expression when Din places him in the warmth, gently retying the laces around him, and he wastes no time in hunkering down and squirming to get comfortable. Din smiles and strokes an ear sticking out—then pulls a blanket on top to add warmth. 

The kid makes a soft coo as he settles. Din shifts and continues to stroke his head, his nails scratching lightly, then lets his own eyes close.

_ We can do this,  _ he thinks.  _ We can. We will figure this out together, and I will raise you right. Aliit ori'shya tal'din. _

He feels the presence rumble inside his mind, pleased, happy, content. They both slip into sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando'a:  
> Gi -- fish  
> Ba'vodu -- uncle  
> Oya -- "let's hunt!" / "stay alive!" / "cheers!" / "hoorah!", always positive and triumphant  
> Mando'ade -- sons/daughters of Mandalore  
> Jetii -- jedi  
> Nibral -- loser, failure  
> Ni'duraa -- you disgust me  
> Dar'manda -- the state of being a Mandalorian who has "lost" their soul, their heritage, and their identity, and is no longer Mandalorian. Dreaded by traditional Mandos.  
> Alor -- leader, chief  
> Laam -- up  
> Aliit ori'shya tal'din -- family is more than blood (saying)
> 
> And we've finished. The series doesn't end here -- the adventures will continue in a new fic, which I've already started. However, I intend to write that in its entirety before posting, as compared to this fic, where i wrote one at a time. Stay posted.
> 
> Come join the covert on [ discord](https://discord.gg/UwZuG6N)  
> Send any prompts or requests over to my [ tumblr,](https://coffeequill.tumblr.com/) or just come scream at me about the Mandalorian!

**Author's Note:**

> Mando'a:  
> Buir -- parent (father/mother)  
> Ad'ika -- little one/son/daughter  
> Resol'nare -- Six Actions (Mando code)  
> Ik'aad -- baby (child under 3)  
> Ba'vodu -- uncle  
> Verd'ika -- in this context, means "little soldier" (affectionate term with a child)  
> Me'copaani -- what do you want?/what would you like?  
> Gedin'la -- cranky, in a mood, lit. "almost insane"  
> Shuk'la -- broken, crushed
> 
> So, I actually wrote a whole outline for this fic. It won't be incredibly long, but likely a few chapters. Just not sure how many yet. 
> 
> Y'all may want to yell at me after that ending. Feel free to do so, either here, at my [tumblr,](https://coffee-quill.tumblr.com/) or the [discord.](https://discord.gg/UwZuG6N).


End file.
